


Stripped Away

by Petitbleu



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-07-17 22:45:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16105346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petitbleu/pseuds/Petitbleu
Summary: The CMBYN sequel is a couple months away from filming, but Timmy and Armie must first deal with the repercussions of something out of their control.





	1. right now i'm in a state of mind

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic ever. The biggest thank you to dreamofhorses for the encouragement and editing!! Also dedicated to the gc, I love you guys.

Summer 2020

Timmy looks up from his phone at the jingling of the bells tied to the top of the cafe door. At every jingle he’s expecting to see Saoirse’s white-blond hair, as much her signature look as the shoulder-length curls tucked under a baseball cap is his. But it’s just a guy in an NYU sweatshirt. He quickly looks back to his screen, and his mouth curves into a small smile as his phone buzzes with a new message.

_Bammer: Hey kid, I’m about to hit the sack. Tell Saoirse hello for me and don’t let her talk you into doing shots again. I’m not there to hold your hair back this time._

_Timmy: Fuck, I’m already three shots deep. I’ll just have to ask this big burly dude next to me to do the honors._

_Bammer: You smart ass. I love you, Facetime tomorrow? 2 pm your time?_

_Timmy: Yes please. Love you, sweet dreams._

The bells jingle again, and this time Timmy peeks out from under his cap to see Saoirse halfway through the door, hair blowing from the force of the air conditioning and face shining from the late July humidity. Her eyes scan the room, unafraid of making eye contact with the other patrons, until they land on him in a booth toward the back near the bathroom. He nods once and matches her smile as she makes her way to him.

“Timmy! Oh my god, why are we meeting so far downtown? The subway was murder-level hot,” she says, as he unfolds himself from his seat and pulls her into a tight hug. “How are you? How’s Armie?”

Timmy squeezes her tighter and nuzzles her neck. “I’m great. Armie’s great. I miss him, you know, he’s still in London for a week.” 

He finally relents on the hug and they settle into the booth, Saoirse grabbing the mug of tea Timmy had already ordered for her. “I can’t believe you are drinking hot tea while it’s this hot outside,” Timmy teases, taking a sip from his iced latte.

“Never question my loyalty to tea, Timmy, it’s in my blood,” she says, inhaling deeply with her nose almost touching the surface of the drink. “Didn’t you visit him when they were filming in Cuba? Wasn’t that like a month ago?”

Timmy shrugs, rubs his cheek on his shoulder in embarrassment. It was three weeks ago, and he had enjoyed every second of the three days he was there, renting a baby blue boat of a car and smoking cigars every night, sipping rum and Cokes until he and Armie were drunk and giggly, groping each other in the stairwell on the way back to Armie’s hotel room. The room had been a sauna, and they had taken turns licking the sweat off each other’s bodies. It didn’t make leaving any easier. He cried on the plane ride home, smelling the t shirt he nicked from Armie’s laundry bag and scrolling through his carefully named “Concert Pics” folder. 

“Oh, Pony, he’s coming home so soon. And then you’ll be together for months, no interruptions. Do you have the script yet?” Saoirse ducks her head to look him in the eyes. 

“Yeah, Luca sent it to us a few months ago. It’s really special, Sersh. How did your meeting with your director go today?” Timmy deflects more questions about the sequel. It’s sacred to him, still. Still only belongs to him, Armie, Luca, and Andre. The first time he’d read it had been in the spring, after both their shows were done for the night. Armie had taken his copy into their bedroom and shut the door, insisting that they should be separate so they could process it on their own, but Timmy had burst through the door after only a few pages. He couldn’t bear Elio’s pain alone, and they had finished the script together, Timmy’s leg wedged between Armie’s, Armie’s hand combing through his hair. 

Saoirse gives him a _look_ , one that means she _knows_ , knows that Timmy is terrified he won’t be able to live up to his first performance as Elio, that his chemistry with Armie will be different now that they have nothing to hide from each other. Will the sequel and its subsequent promo be too much for their relationship? Armie gets grumpy the longer he has to promote something, and Timmy gets exhausted, worn down so much that makeup artists tsk at the purple of his under eyes and his agent pleads with him to actually eat a full meal. But Saoirse doesn’t press the issue, not now. Maybe later, after they’ve finished catching each other up on the last few months of their lives. 

She goes into a story about how her director almost quit when the producers wanted to lower his location budget, but Timmy’s attention is pulled away at the sudden buzzing in his pocket where he had stashed his phone. He lets it go to voicemail, knowing it’s probably his mom wanting to chat or Brian with some new scripts. But then there is a quick succession of buzzes, at least six, signaling text messages. And then a longer buzz, another call.

“Sorry, Sersh, my phone is going crazy. Might be something important,” Timmy apologizes, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He’s missed the second call, his mom, and unlocks his phone to read the texts, his brow furrowing at the frantic nature of them. 

_Pauline: Mom is freaking out. Are you okay? Where are you?_

_Mama: Timothée, what’s going on?_

_G: Dude, I am so sorry that happened. Fucked up, bro. Here if you need anything._

_Brian: Call me. Now._

Timmy stops reading the messages and whips his head up to stare at Saoirse, confusion etched in his face. “What’s wrong, Timmy? Is everything okay?” she asks, reaching for his hand.

“I.. I don’t know, everyone is freaking out about something but I have no idea what they’re talking about.” Timmy pulls up Chrome and Googles his name, dread settling in the pit of his stomach. 

_LEAKED: ARMIE HAMMER AND TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET SEX TAPE_

_SECRET GAY RELATIONSHIP REVEALED BETWEEN COSTARS_

_‘CALL ME BY YOUR NAME’ ACTORS IN STEAMY SCENE: WATCH HERE_

Timmy’s mouth feels like it has filled with sand, his hand shakes as he clicks the first available link, why is he clicking the link, it has to be a fake, there’s no way-

It’s him. It’s him and Armie, in their apartment, their linen duvet, their navy velvet headboard. His head is thrown back, his back arching, as Armie grips his ass on either side. He moves one hand to Timmy’s cock, bobbing on his stomach, as he rolls his hips. There’s no sound, Timmy’s volume is muted, but he knows what Armie is saying. _You’re such a slut for this, aren’t you, a perfect little slut, do you want more? Hmm, should I give you more?_

Timmy throws his phone down, hands shaking even worse now, as a third call starts buzzing. He can see Saoirse’s lips moving, her hands moving to grab his, but he can’t hear anything, just the roar of an invisible wave coming to wash him away. He twists his hands out of hers, tries to get out of the booth, trips on his feet, bile rising in his throat. Finally rights himself but everyone is looking at him, _oh god, do they know? They know, everyone has seen me getting plowed, oh my god_ , and he lunges for the bathroom door, not bothering to lock it behind him. He barely makes it to the toilet, puking up his lunch and probably his breakfast, continues until he tastes bitter acid and then nothing, just dry heaving, saliva dripping down his chin and tears and snot mixing together around his mouth, and he lets out a sob. And another one, and another, until he’s sobbing with abandon, clutching the toilet seat and banging his head against the wall. 

He doesn’t hear the door open, just feels Saoirse pressing a cool, wet paper towel to his face, cleaning off the mess. Feels her take his cap off, run her fingers through his sweaty, knotted hair, rub his shoulders as she gets on the floor next to him. They sit there together, Timmy’s sobbing slowly reducing to whimpers, as he presses his face into her neck. He doesn’t know how long they sit there (an hour? 15 minutes?) but he can hear Saoirse murmuring softly, words of comfort, meaningless but kind. 

When he wipes his tears, she tries to get him to look at her, but he can’t meet her eyes. Can’t bear to see the disappointment, disgust even, surely brewing on her face. “Timmy, I’m gonna take you home, okay? Do you have sunglasses?” He shakes his head and she puts his cap back on, tugging it low so his puffy red eyes are hidden. He lets her, lets her pull him to his feet, lets her tuck his hair behind his ears as best she can, lets her take his hand and lead him out of the bathroom. He’s numb, feels like he’s floating through the coffee shop, hears whispers of _Timothée Chalamet_ and _holy shit_ and then it’s hot, even though the sun is lower in the sky, and then he feels the flash of a camera, hears a catcall from someone on the sidewalk. 

“Oh, fuck off!” Saoirse snaps at the offender, and tugs Timmy’s hand toward a waiting cab. He climbs into the back, turns toward Saoirse settling in next to him, rests his head on her shoulder. “I grabbed your phone, your agent was calling. I told him I’m bringing you home and you’ll call him later.” Saoirse whispered, wary of the taxi driver who was watching them in the rear view mirror. Timmy just nodded against her shoulder and drifted off, not falling asleep but not totally present, knowing they had at least 20 minutes in the relative safety of the car.

The taxi pulls up to his building, and Saoirse shoves cash at the driver, pulling Timmy out behind her. He braves a look at the doorman, Steve, gives him a tight, close-mouthed smile. Tries to ignore the concern he sees in his eyes. 

In the elevator, Saoirse fumbles in his pockets for his keys, gets him through the apartment door and bends down to pulls his sneakers off. He walks to the bedroom, stares at the linen duvet and the navy velvet headboard, their private sanctuary now making its rounds around the internet, and turns on his heels, walking down the hall to the smaller bedroom with two single beds. He lifts the cartoon train-printed comforter up and flops down, curling himself into the smallest ball possible. 

His eyes land on the bed in the opposite corner, pink and ruffly, and squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t think about them right now. Can’t think about the consequences and the fallout that is sure to come. If he does, he’ll scream. He needs Armie. Needs Armie to tell him it will all be okay, they’ll be okay. But Saoirse still has his phone, and he’s so tired. Knows Armie has been sleeping for a couple hours already, knows his call would probably go unanswered, which would only compound his anxiety. So he keeps his eyes closed, lets the tears fall, pretends Armie is in the apartment, will come in and rub his back, his neck, in just a few minutes. His breath hitches a couple times, but doesn’t catch into a sob. Feels himself drifting into sleep, a respite, for now.


	2. and in the bad times, i fear myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie finds out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, thank you for all your comments and kudos, I smile like a dope whenever I look at them. Thanks to dreamofhorses for beta-ing.

Summer 2020

 _FUCK. Fucking fuck jesus fucking christ._ Armie stares at his phone, frozen, too many thoughts trying to beat each other out for attention in his brain. Hundreds of texts. _Hundreds._ More than a dozen voicemails. 

He had woken up before his alarm, the sun casting stripes across his face because the slats on the blinds were spaced too far apart. He had stayed in bed for a few minutes, luxuriating in the warm light and remembering his dream, Timmy’s face laughing at something unseen, his curls frizzy from the seawater and heavy air, taking off down the beach to scare the seagulls away, like a tireless retriever running off the zoomies. Only a week left on his shoot, and he’d be back in Manhattan with Timmy, there to stay this time, for months. 

Armie had reached for his phone to remind Timmy of that day on the beach in Cuba, that perfect day, which had ended at a bar. Timmy had half danced, half dragged Armie into the bathroom, shoved Armie into the single stall, gave him one hard kiss and dropped to his knees. 

He had been snapped out of his dreamy remembrance by the chaos of his notifications. He stares as more texts roll in, all of them laced with panic and confusion, some even with anger. They’re all saying the same thing, basically. _What the fuck did you do, you fucking idiot? Do you have any idea how bad this is? Not just for you, but for Timmy? What have you done?_ Armie opens his message thread with Nick, who had sent a link with a long line of _?????????_

Armie clicks on the link immediately. Whatever he did, best to just rip the band-aid off quickly. He thinks maybe his tweet about the manspreading asshole he saw on the Tube yesterday didn’t go over well, or maybe he had liked too many of Timmy’s recent Instagram photos at one time. He did not expect to be staring at himself, and Timmy, in their bedroom, hearing his voice, breathless and rough, two fingers in Timmy’s ass, his mouth on Timmy’s neck. He stares at the video, confused as to how Nick got this particular video, how could Nick send him a video that only exists on Armie’s phone, when Timmy’s high-pitched, breathy _fuck, Armie_ cuts through the noise in his head. 

Armie swings his legs from under the covers and jolts out of bed, going through the other messages. There are more links, to TMZ, Perez Hilton, some online forum he’s never heard of before, Entertainment Tonight. Screenshots from the video are on CNN, Vulture, thick black bands censoring them. The headlines are all variations of “gay sex tape leaked on Twitter.” _Oh, god, Twitter._ Their names are trending, there are so many links. Armie clicks on all of them. One link has 20 million views. The video. His video. How- when did this happen? His knees threaten to give out as he paces and he sinks into the armchair by the window, still scrolling through the messages. _Fuck_ , his agent, his publicist, his friends, _his mom, oh fuck, Elizabeth._ He’s sweating everywhere, pulls himself back up, needs to move. There’s nothing from Timmy. He presses voice call immediately, doesn’t trust himself to use Facetime, one look at Timmy’s face and he’d lose it, lose whatever nerve is keeping him from falling apart right now. 

It rings five times, goes to voicemail. “Hey, you’ve reached Timothée Chalamet, leave a message and I’ll call you back.” Professional, polite. Armie chokes on a sob. “Timmy, babe, please call me back, please call me back, I’m so sorry, I don’t how it happened, please call me back, you’re probably sleeping but please, I’m so sorry,” Armie’s voice is thick, on the precipice of losing it. He hangs up before he starts bawling.

He ignores all the calls and messages, calls Timmy again. Doesn’t leave another voicemail. It’s 2 am in New York, he’s sure Timmy is sleeping. Does he even know what’s happened? 

Armie has to be on set at 9. He drags himself to the shower, turning the temperature all the way up, hoping that if it’s hot enough, it will burn away the feeling that he’s ruined everything. He stands under the spray, makes no moves to actually clean himself, and once he’s numb to the scalding water, lets go. He cries, heaving sobs wracking his body, face pulled into a grotesque mask of anguish, as he mourns the loss of the sanctity of his relationship. 

He’ll be the monster again, like he was last summer, the destroyer of a 10-year marriage and a perfect family, only this time, he’ll be the destroyer of Timmy’s career, Hollywood’s It Boy cheapened to a punchline. Never mind the fact that his marriage had deteriorated over the course of years, had been a mutual decision untainted by cheating or fighting, just a natural ending, a relieved exhale. He was tortured in the tabloids, dogged by paparazzi for weeks, finally absconding to New York where he had taken refuge on Timmy’s couch. Spent all their free time watching movies, eating take out, falling into the rhythm of friendship they had in Crema, eventually falling into something more. 

Armie slams the water off, determinedly slamming his thoughts away, too. There was no time to dwell on the inevitable downfall right now, Guy needed him present enough to shoot the last bits of pickup on Man from U.N.C.L.E. 2. He dries off, avoiding his reflection in the mirror, pulls on the closest clothes he can reach, and his hotel room phone starts to ring. 

It’s too loud to ignore, so he answers, steeling himself against whatever onslaught he’s about to face.

“Armie, good morning,” Evelyn, his publicist, says wearily. “I’m assuming you’ve seen the news and are choosing to ignore my messages?”

“I’m sorry, Evelyn, I saw them, but I needed a moment. I- I guess you know I didn’t leak that on purpose, right? I would, I would _never_ -”

“Armie, shh, I know. Your iCloud was hacked, along with a bunch of other celebrities. The Fappening Part 2, or whatever gross shit they’ve decided to call it. Unfortunately, your tape was the most… interesting, shall we say.”

Armie lets out a grunt of frustration. “How bad is this, really? Have you talked to Timmy? He didn’t answer my calls, I know it’s late for him, but-”

“I talked to Brian, who talked to Saoirse Ronan apparently. She was with Timmy when the news broke.”

_Thank god, he wasn’t alone._

“He… well, I won’t lie to you, he didn’t take it well. Saoirse said he got sick in the cafe and she had to take him home. He hardly said a word the whole time. He’s, um, he’s sleeping in Ford’s bed right now.”

Armie swears under his breath. How is he supposed to work today, knowing Timmy is likely shutting down, isolating because he’s too overwhelmed. He wishes desperately that he could fly straight to New York and rub Timmy’s back the way he likes, Armie’s hand heavy and soothing on his smooth skin, Timmy curling into him like a cat seeking warmth. 

“Obviously, don’t say anything on social media. It would be best if you stay off totally, you know it’s hard for you to stay silent when someone’s talking shit. I’m working on a statement, I’ll email it to you for approval soon, and I’ve got your lawyers drawing up a cease-and-desist letter for any site hosting the video. The police contacted them a few hours ago, and they’re working on locating the IP address that hacked your phone,” Evelyn rattles off. “Do you… have any other photos or videos that could be damaging?”

“Evelyn… yes, okay, there are more. Should I delete them? They probably have everything, don’t they?” Armie says with a groan. He doesn’t want to delete them. They’re special, every single one of them, the timestamps indelibly marking the exact moments Armie and Timmy made love. He needs them, needs them to remind him of Timmy when they’re separated for weeks or months at a time when they’re working on different projects. Facetime isn’t enough.

“I know you won’t delete them, so buy a flash drive and transfer them to that so they’re off iCloud at least,” Evelyn sighs, offering an alternative solution she obviously preplanned, knowing Armie would never get rid of them totally. “I’m not going to lecture you about the stupidity you’ve displayed, but Timmy’s my client too. I have to look out for him, so please don’t make my job harder than it already is. I gotta go, the lawyers are calling back soon. Don’t go to New York. You need to stay on Guy’s good side, especially now.” Evelyn hangs up without waiting for a response from Armie. He feels like a total piece of shit.


	3. take me to your river

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie and Timmy talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to dreamofhorses for the beta!!
> 
> There's a tiny tiny hint of a foreshadow for Bart... ;)

Summer 2020

Armie sees Guy standing in the doorway of the studio as he gets out of the car. _Great._

“Hey man. Let’s go talk in my office, yeah?” Guy pats him on the shoulder, ambles down the hallway like he has no cares in the world. Armie follows him into the small office, a giant cork board covering one wall, posters for Guy’s movies covering the remaining three. Armie perches on the edge of the chair in front of the desk, waits for Guy to speak, braces himself for what he thinks will be termination from the project and a lawsuit.

Guy sighs, rubbing his head. “This is fucking awful, mate, I’m sorry this is happening to you. I rearranged the schedule for the rest of the week. All of your scenes should be wrapped up by lunch, is that okay with you?”

“Wait, what? You’re not firing me?” Armie says, trying to keep calm. 

Guy barks out a laugh that sounds halfway between affectionate and exasperated. “No, no, even if I wanted to the reshoots would be massively expensive. It is what it is, Armie. Not ideal, of course, but by the time the movie is released some other scandal will be dominating the news. Who knows, maybe Jennifer Lawrence has an extra toe or something.” That doesn’t make Armie feel any better. 

“Relax, mate. I know you have a giant shitstorm to deal with now, that’s why I’ve moved all your scenes to get done today. So you can go home and deal with it.” Guy explains, nods once, as if it will all be that simple. “Don’t worry about the movie. You did great in it, and who knows, maybe this will tie in nicely with the whole homoerotic thing we got going on in the movie.”

Armie’s not sure if that was supposed to be a dig, but he can’t believe Guy is being so nice about this whole situation. Better not look a gift horse in the mouth. “Thanks, Guy. Really. I’ll make sure today goes smoothly. I’m really fucking sorry this happened.”

“I’m sorry it happened, too. Now let’s have a good last day of filming, yeah?” Guy claps his hands on his legs and stands, conversation over.

Armie’s last day of filming flew by. There were whispers, lingering stares, one muttered slur from a set builder, but everyone mostly ignored him. He bought a ticket for the earliest flight possible as soon as he was in makeup, and when the last cut was called out before lunch, he hugged Alicia and fist-bumped Henry, who thought he was going in for a high five and ended up just grabbing Armie’s fist. Armie threw out goodbyes to the crew like they were candy falling from a piñata and got in a waiting car to go pack up his hotel room. 

Armie is zipping his suitcase shut when his phone starts blaring “Bartier Cardi,” the ringtone only assigned to Timmy. Armie sinks onto the edge of the bed heavily, takes a deep breath, and answers.

“Timmy. Hey, baby. How are you?” Armie says, cautious and soft.

He hears a shuddering breath, a sniffle. “Hi, Armie.” Timmy murmurs. His voice sounds rough, unused. 

“Timmy, I’m so sor-”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault, okay? None of this is your fault.” Timmy gets louder, more forceful. “I know that’s what you’re thinking, so stop it. We made that video together, out of love, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Do you hear me?”

Armie’s shaking his head, but realizes Timmy can’t see him. “Don’t try to take the blame away from me. It was my idea, I should’ve-”

“The only person to blame is the one who hacked your fucking phone and outed us to the world. Let’s not fight about this, okay? You gotta know I’m not mad at you, or anything. I love you. I need you. God, it’s only Tuesday. Saturday seems so far away. I wish I could come see you, I know, I know, I’d only be a distraction and you need to finish well, but…” Timmy trails off, wistful.

“Guy moved all my scenes to today, I just finished filming, and I’m about to go the airport,” Armie says quickly. “I’ll be home by 7 pm, baby.”

Armie hears a sharp intake of breath. 

“Really?” 

“Yes, really.”

There’s no immediate reply. Armie waits for a response, a small smile making its way to his face for the first time all day. Still, nothing, and Armie presses the phone closer to his ear. “...Timmy? You still there?”

“Yeah, I- I’m here,” Timmy chokes out, voice thick, as if he’s trying to swallow his tears.

“Oh baby, don’t cry. Please don’t cry, I’ll see you so soon,” Armie soothes, feeling helpless. He runs his hands through his hair, still gelled down into Illya’s shellacked style. Rather than placate Timmy, as he’d hoped, his words seem to open the dam, Timmy’s crying getting louder. Armie murmurs to Timmy, just a string of nonsense syllables that he hopes sound comforting. 

Timmy takes a deep breath, exhales shakily, repeats the process a few times. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I’m okay, I’m just so ready to see you. Will you text me your flight number? I wanna be able to track it.”

“Yeah, of course,” Armie says as his phone beeps with a notification. His ride is here. “Hey, the car is waiting for me outside, I gotta go. Is Saoirse still with you?”

Timmy huffs out a laugh. “She’s been watching me with narrowed eyes this whole time. Made me eat soup. It’s too hot for soup. And for breakfast? Gross.”

Armie laughs at the image of Saoirse standing over Timmy, prodding at him until he eats his breakfast soup. “Good. I’m glad. I love you, kid. Can’t wait to see you.”

“Love you too. Safe flight, yeah? See you soon.”

Armie lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Less than 10 hours. He can do this.

 _“Local time in New York is 5:46 pm. It is 78 degrees, partly cloudy. We thank you for flying British Airways and hope to see you again soon.”_ Never would be too soon, Armie thinks, as he stands and stretches the best he can while waiting for his turn to leave. He’s not leaving Timmy again for a very long time. He turns off airplane mode, his notifications from Timmy pouring in.

 _Sweet Tea: Four hours left.. hope ur dinner was good. Sersh is watching House Hunters, these people are so dumb. What the fuck is a breakfast nook?_

_Sweet Tea: 2 hrs. Saoirse had to leave, had a dinner meeting she couldn’t cancel. Mom tried to come over but i need to shower anyway, told her i’m fine. Wonder what movie ur watching._

_Sweet Tea: Cried in the shower_

_Sweet Tea: sorry, i shouldn’t have texted u that._

_Sweet Tea: i just miss you. Missed you for weeks. Missed u in our bed…_

_Sweet Tea: god i want u. Facetime isn’t good enough. I need to touch you. I want u to touch me._

_Sweet Tea: do you remember new year’s ? haha we were so drunk and that party was so lame. Couldn’t keep my hands off you in the cab. Fuck, when u pulled me close by the neck and told me to behave.. I’d do anything for you, you know that right._

_Sweet Tea: i wish i could send u a photo.. Just picture this: me, on the couch, wearing your tracksuit bottoms nothing else. Dick out, jizz all over my stomach because i was thinking of you. Thinking of new year’s when we got home and we couldn’t make it to the bedroom so you fucked me on this couch. Put your hand around my neck, squeezed a little. I had to use my own hand this time. Yours is better._

Armie is blushing and hard by the end of the last text, which was sent 30 minutes ago. He decides against texting Timmy back, wants to surprise him with his exact arrival, wants to see his face the moment he walks in the door. He glances around at the other passengers, crowds up against the seat in front of him and adjusts himself. That will have to wait. 

He makes it through baggage claim before anyone notices him, and then it’s a full-fledged paparazzi attack. _Fuck. Someone must’ve seen him at Heathrow._ He keeps his head down, ignores the flashes and shouted questions, pushes through the crowd with a tight, closed-mouth smile, out of the terminal and into the summer evening. 

The drive to their apartment feels tortuously long. Armie is desperate to stalk his tag on Twitter to see if any pap photos have made their way online, but he forces himself to keep his phone in his pocket. Armie is halfway out the car door before the SUV has fully parked in front of the apartment building, grabs his bags with a _later, man_ thrown at the driver, and hurries into the building.

“Mr. Hammer, good to see you again,” Steve greets him. “Glad to see you’re still in one piece. Have a good night.”

“Thanks man, see you later,” Armie shouts over his shoulder, already halfway to the elevator. 

He pauses outside their door, rests his forehead directly on the numbers tacked onto it. Home, he thinks. Unlocks the door quietly, leaves his luggage in the hallway. It’ll keep. All the lights are off, but it’s still light outside so the living room is bathed in a warm glow, lighting up Timmy curled up on the couch, his phone next to his face. Armie can feel his heart beating faster, he’s surprised the sound doesn’t wake Timmy up. He kneels down next to Timmy’s face, brings his hand close but doesn’t touch. Not yet. He just wants to look for a second. 

Finally, _finally_ , he allows himself to stroke Timmy’s hair, from his forehead to the nape of his neck. Timmy stirs, pushing back into Armie’s hand, blinks up at him with sleepy confusion.

“Hey, you,” Armie whispers, his first real smile of the day dawning. 

Timmy stares at him, his eyes shifting from Armie’s eyes to his mouth, his hand reaching up and tracing Armie’s lips. Armie shifts his head so he can kiss Timmy’s palm, his hand in Timmy’s hair moving to his neck and gently squeezing. 

“Get down here,” Timmy whispers back, moves his hand to the back of Armie’s neck and pulls him in. 

“If you insist,” Armie jokes, before softly pressing his lips to Timmy’s. He stays there, just breathing, inhaling Timmy’s air, until TImmy squirms, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, licking the seam of Armie’s mouth until he finally lets him in. Timmy whimpers, almost too quiet for Armie to hear, and Armie brackets Timmy’s head with his hands as Timmy’s hand shifts lower, trying to pull Armie on top of him. 

Armie breaks the kiss, pulls back just enough so he can look Timmy in the eyes. “Are you sure? You don’t wanna talk about it more? I don’t know how you’ve been.”

Timmy rolls his eyes but Armie can see there’s no real annoyance there, just affection. “Armiieee, I’m fine, okay? Just fuck me. I’ve been waiting all day.” As he’s talking, Timmy takes one of Armie’s hands away from his head and guides it toward his cock, which is still poking out from underneath Armie’s red tracksuit pants. 

Armie palms him, lets his fingertips drag against his balls, his other hand stroking Timmy’s cheek. “I know you’ve been waiting, and I want to, believe me, but are you sure you’re okay? I feel like I’ve betrayed you, like I don’t deserve this.”

“Stop. Stop thinking that. I don’t feel that way, and neither should you. I need to know we’re in this together, no matter what the outcome is, or how everyone around us is going to react. If we’re on the same page, if we’re okay, then everything is gonna be okay,” Timmy says, reaching under Armie’s striped tee shirt, dragging his fingers through Armie’s chest hair.

“But, but Evelyn said you were sick yesterday. It made me sick to think I wasn’t here to help you, to comfort you-”

“It was just the shock, Armie. And I wasn’t alone, Sersh was here the whole time. She slept in Harper’s bed, canceled most of her meetings today. But what about you? You were the one who was alone.”

“I’m fine,” Armie says shortly, pulling his hand away from Timmy’s crotch. 

Timmy props himself up on his side, grabbing Armie’s chin. “Don’t do that. Don’t hide. Not from me, remember? We don’t hide from each other.”

Armie feels like he’s going to cry the longer he looks at Timmy, so he shakes Timmy’s hand off and sits back on his heels. “I don’t know what I’m feeling, other than disgust at myself for letting you down. And letting the world see you in a way they shouldn’t.”

“But you _haven’t_ let me down. I promise. And I knew the risks when we recorded that video. I mean, I had hoped you would never get hacked, but you never know, you know? So we took a risk. But there’s nothing wrong with what we did,” Timmy explains patiently, waiting for Armie to come back to him. “I am so in love with you, this is never going to change. Show me, Armie, show me how much you love me.”

Armie wipes away the tears collecting in the corners of his eyes, focuses on Timmy, who lays back down and shimmies out of Armie’s pants. Armie wants to smell them, later. He stands, toes off his sneakers, gets naked as fast as possible. Timmy strokes himself lazily, eyes roving all over Armie, thumbing over his slit. Armie takes a small bottle of lube out of the side table and settles over Timmy’s body, covering him entirely, just enjoying the feeling of their skin touching from shoulder to toe. Timmy turns them to the side, so Armie’s back is up against the back of the couch, takes Armie’s hand, brings it between his legs. Armie strokes Timmy’s cock, whispers nonsense, _look at you, look at your face, so beautiful, all mine_. They keep their eyes locked, searching for something in each other’s eyes but not knowing what they’re looking for. Trust, maybe. A promise.

Armie pours some lube on his fingers and reaches back farther behind Timmy’s balls, starts with feathery strokes around Timmy’s hole. As he presses one finger in, Timmy’s mouth finds his, his urgency guiding his tongue to lick into Armie’s mouth, behind his teeth. Armie finds his prostate and Timmy arches, pushing into Armie’s body, panting into his mouth.

“Yeah, Armie, there, oh _god_ , I missed you so much,” Timmy moaned into Armie’s mouth. Armie rolls on top of Timmy, putting him on his back, as he pushes in with a second finger. “Oh, _oh_.” Timmy’s mouth is hanging open, his eyes screwed shut. When he lifts his ass to meet Armie’s fingers, Armie tries to add a third, but Timmy’s eyes fly open. “No, no no no, you. Now.” He grabs the lube and slicks Armie up, twists his hand a few times. 

“Are you sure?” Armie asks, seeing stars. They usually use three fingers, Armie’s not exactly easy to take. But he won’t last long with Timmy jerking him off like this.

“Yes, yes, want to feel it. Come on, do it,” Timmy breathes, lifting his hips and guiding Armie to his wet entrance. 

Armie pushes in slowly, slowly, willing himself not to come when Timmy’s heat envelopes his cock and lights a fire in his belly. “Fuck, Timmy, you feel so good. So good. I missed you, I missed this, oh _fuck_ ,” Armie babbles, trying to go slowly to let Timmy accommodate him.

“Jesus, _fuck_ , faster,” Timmy spits out. He wraps his legs around Armie’s waist right above his ass and pulls Armie in. Armie chokes on his breath, drops his forehead on Timmy’s chest, Timmy pulsing around Armie’s cock. When he’s caught his breath, he pushes himself back up, noses Timmy’s head so he can kiss him, and starts to move. 

He’s going deep and hard on every roll of his hips, aiming for Timmy’s prostate, swallowing all of Timmy’s noises. It feels like they’re trying to become one, like if Armie thrusts hard enough he’ll be sucked whole into Timmy’s body, where he belongs. He needs to breathe, so he pulls off of Timmy’s mouth and pushes his curls off his face, kisses Timmy’s eyelids and down his face until he bites the junction of his neck and shoulder. Timmy hisses, grabs Armie’s hair and holds him against his neck. Timmy’s hips are lifting off to meet Armie’s, and they’re both shaking from the exertion. 

Armie releases Timmy’s neck, licks the red mark that will deepen into purple overnight, and reaches for Timmy’s cock trapped between their bodies. Timmy’s almost silent, now, his head pressing against his shoulder to see Armie’s hand flying over his cock. “Come on, baby, come for me,” Armie murmurs into Timmy’s ear, licks the spot right behind, and Timmy keens, Armie’s favorite sound in the whole world, a high-pitched breathy moan that stutters off. Armie holds Timmy down as he comes, clenching around Armie. “ _Fuck_ ,” Armie swears, thrusting once, twice. Pulls out at the last second, aiming for Timmy’s red-tinged rim. He uses his dick to rub his cum into Timmy’s rim, pushing it inside as Timmy twitches from an aftershock. 

Armie pulls out, runs his thumb and pointer finger from base to tip to gather what’s left of his cum, and uses his thumb to push it back inside Timmy, runs his thumb along the inside of his rim, playing with his fucked-out hole. Timmy gasps, wiggles away from Armie’s touch, reaches down to pull Armie back on top of him. 

Timmy stares at him, pure adoration morphing into mischief as he brings Armie’s hand up and sucks his thumb into his mouth, tongue swirling around it to lick Armie clean. Armie’s hazy smile turns predatory, and he presses his thumb down on Timmy’s tongue until his mouth opens. Armie licks into Timmy with his thumb still trapping his tongue, and Timmy giggles, dislodging Armie’s hand. They kiss, a sweet, wet kiss. “Thank you,” Timmy whispers. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Armie uses his discarded tee shirt to wipe down Timmy’s torso, then flips them over so Timmy is half on top of Armie, lodged between him and the couch. 

“I love you, baby,” Armie says, eyes closing in exhaustion he hasn’t allowed himself to feel all day. 

Timmy wraps his arm around Armie, places a kiss on his neck. “Love you more.”

They don’t stop tracing each other’s skin until they fall asleep, finally home, together.


	4. come on, baby, play me like a love song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks dreamofhorses for the beta and also Saturday night discussions about the meaning of life. <3

Summer 2020

Armie wakes up to a mouthful of Timmy’s curls and a stiff back. Even though the couch is cramped and uncomfortable, he feels complete now, with Timmy’s body flung across his, all limbs and soft skin and little warm puffs of breath on his neck. He picks up Timmy’s phone off the floor to check the time. 12:30 am. If he hopes to fall asleep again, he’s going to have to move them to the bedroom.

“Timmy, baby, wake up. Let’s move to the bed,” Armie whispers as he strokes his cheek with his thumb.

Timmy scrunches up his face, yawns. “Mmm, no. Let’s stay here. Don’t wanna move.”

“C’mon, T, my back is gonna hurt enough tomorrow. I’ll carry you.”

Timmy shoves his face deeper into Armie’s neck. “I haven’t slept in there yet. Feels… I don’t know. Feels weird. Like I’m being watched,” he whispers.

Armie squeezes Timmy even tighter to his body, uses his hand not pinned down by Timmy’s body to rub his back. “I know. But no one is watching. It’s still ours. They have an hour of our life. How many hours have we spent in there? Hundreds?”

Timmy doesn’t answer, just shrugs. Armie feels a fraction of tension leave Timmy’s body.

“We could get a new bed. A California King. It would probably fit. Might have to downsize your sneaker collection, though,” Armie teases, his voice warm. 

“Hey, don’t mess with my image. I _need_ all those sneakers. I’m a fashion icon, now, you know. The public loves my look,” Timmy says, poking Armie between his ribs. 

“Oh, is that so? Does your adoring public know how bad you’re gonna get it?” Armie launches an assault on Timmy’s stomach, wiggling his fingers along his ribcage, as Timmy howls with laughter and bucks himself so wildly he almost pushes Armie off the couch. 

“Uncle! Uncle, please!” Tears stream down Timmy’s face and Armie concedes, sliding off the couch and stretching in one smooth motion. 

“Fine. But you have to let me carry you to bed, _signor fashionisto_.”

Timmy peers up at Armie from behind his hair, now wild from a combination of sex, sleep, and their roughhousing. He nods, more than a little trepidatious. Armie lifts him up with one arm under his knees and the other around his back, and Timmy wraps his arms around Armie’s neck, plants a wet, noisy kiss on Armie’s mouth.

Armie deposits Timmy on the center of their bed, looks around at the space they’ve made their own over the last nine months. Timmy’s old apartment in the East Village had all of the charm but none of the space needed by a new family of four, and he had been the one to suggest moving to the Upper West Side to a two bedroom, two bathroom unit that his mom had found at her job. _The kids will be so close to the park, Armie_ , Timmy had explained to an incredulous Armie, who couldn’t believe Timmy would so willingly move from his beloved neighborhood. _It’s quieter up there, more families. Plus you know it’s a lot closer to all the theaters, which will be nice when our plays start. We can walk home together._ Armie had been afraid that moving in together would be too much, too soon, especially with Harper and Ford coming to visit for a week at a time when he wasn’t working. But Timmy hadn’t been open to discussion, said he had waited long enough and sometimes, the stars align for a reason. 

So they bought the apartment, a ludicrously expensive purchase funded mostly by Armie’s half of the house sold in the divorce. Timmy had wanted to pay 50 percent, but that would have been most of his earnings from _Dune_ , and Armie wanted Timmy to not worry about money for the first time in his life. He had to placate Timmy by drawing up a ridiculous faux contract that said he would pay Armie back with part of his next big paycheck, which would probably be the _Dune_ sequel. Armie hopes he’ll get to burn the contract before that happens because he’s going to marry Timmy. 

Armie’s gaze shifts back to Timmy, who has already fallen asleep again, starfished on the bed in the nude, dried cum flaking off his stomach and thighs. He remembers his luggage abandoned in the hallway and runs out to grab it, only one bare arm snaking out from the cracked-open door to pull the huge roller suitcase inside. He rolls it to the bedroom and nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of Timmy sitting upright, his back against the headboard. 

“Jesus Christ, I thought you were asleep!” Armie says, one hand over his racing heart. 

Timmy laughs, slips off the bed, reaches for Armie’s hips. “I was just resting my eyes. I didn’t want to sleep until you were back in here with me. But now I’m awake. What are we gonna do about it?”

Armie pulls Timmy against his body, their shoulders, knees, bellies, cocks flush against each other. “I could think of a couple things. They’re extremely strenuous activities, though. Sure you’re up for it?”

Timmy peeks down between their bodies at their cocks and then back up to Armie’s eyes, his lip curling slowly and the tip of his tongue settling between his teeth.

“Don’t you even dare say it, if you do, I’ll jerk off and you’ll just have to watch,” Armie slaps Timmy’s ass, grabs it to hear Timmy’s hiss of surprise. 

“This feels like déjà vu, doesn’t it?”

Armie realizes they are standing in the same position they were in when they decided to film themselves for the first time, caught up in the relief of Armie coming home from filming reshoots in LA. He hugs Timmy tighter, smells his hair, not caring that it’s greasy from a day spent lounging inside.

“Do you remember how happy I was to see you? And you laughed at me for buying that tripod?”

Timmy tips his head back, his eyes half closed, a wistful smile playing on his lips. “I remember.” 

Fall 2019

“I’m sorry, you want to do what?” Timmy laughs at Armie, who’s holding a tripod in one hand and his phone in the other.

Armie is not really sure what he wants to do. He had bought the tripod at the airport in LA, where he had been for the last week. Even though he had FaceTimed Timmy when he was available, Timmy had been too exhausted from filming and the time difference to do anything, and Armie felt like a cat in heat, horny and antsy to jump Timmy as soon as he landed in New York. He had seen the tripod in the airport store and his mind had pushed out all other thoughts except _I wanna fuck Timmy and I wanna film it_. But when he had shown it to Timmy upon arriving home, suggested that they film themselves as an outlet for when they’re separated due to work, Timmy had laughed at him.

“I, I don’t know, I thought, maybe, it would be hot. God, Timmy, I couldn’t stand sleeping without you. I missed your body,” Armie mumbles, unable to look at him.

“So, wait, let me understand. You want to make a sex tape, Mr. Hammer? _Avec moi_?” Timmy slinks toward Armie, slides his hands around Armie’s waist to rest on his ass. “So does this mean you’re my director? You gonna tell me what to do?”

Armie chances a look at TImmy, who is staring at him lasciviously. He feels himself grinning, mirrors Timmy’s hands on his ass. “Are you trying to seduce your director, Mr. Chalamet? I don’t think we need any rehearsal, I’ve heard you have plenty of experience with these kinds of scenes.”

Timmy tries to kiss Armie, but Armie pushes him off gently and he rocks back onto his heels. He extends the tripod to its full height, fastens his phone to it, while Timmy presses himself fully against Armie’s back, his erection pressing into the backs of Armie’s thighs.

“Come on, Mr. Big Shot Director, your star is waiting,” Timmy singsongs, circling his hips and cupping Armie through his jeans. Armie presses record, checks the framing, and turns around, grabbing Timmy’s face with both hands and kissing him deep and wet. 

“Get on the bed,” Armie grunts, backing Timmy up until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He pulls off Timmy’s t shirt and kisses down his chest, pausing at a nipple to suck. Timmy groans, rests his weight on one arm planted on the bed and grips the back of Armie’s neck with his other hand. Armie releases, continues kissing down Timmy’s torso while unbuttoning his black jeans. 

“Naughty boy,” Armie rumbles, when he discovers that Timmy has foregone underwear. Timmy just smirks, lifts his hips so Armie can peel his jeans off. Armie buries his face in the junction of Timmy’s leg and groin, inhales his scent he desperately missed while he was away. 

“Do it, Armie, please,” Timmy pleads, trying to nudge Armie’s face closer to his cock.

“Do what, baby?”

“S-suck me, please.”

Armie traces up Timmy’s dick with just the tip of his tongue. “Like this?” 

“Ugh, god, more, ple-”

Armie takes Timmy in his mouth, all the way to the base. 

“ _Fuuuuuck_ ,” Timmy groans softly, his head falling back along with his other arm.

Armie pulls off enough so he can suckle the head, focusing his tongue on the spot underneath that makes Timmy’s legs shake. After several minutes, Timmy’s hips start lifting off the bed. He tries to thrust his cock deeper, but Armie pins his hips to bed, pulling off totally in the process.

“Behave, Tim,” he warns. He takes him all the way down, swallows around him, can barely hear Timmy’s whispered cursing above him. He starts bobbing his head, running his tongue along the underside, then swirls around the tip, flicks the slit until Timmy taps the side of his mouth.

“I’m, _fuck_ , I’m close, Armie,” Timmy says, trying to get out of Armie’s mouth, but Armie snatches Timmy’s hand away by the wrist, holds it down on the bed. He takes Timmy deeper until he feels soft hairs tickling his nose, and he hums, urging on Timmy’s orgasm.

“Oh, _Jesus_ , Armie, Armie, I love you, _ohhhh_ ,” Timmy moans, his orgasm taking over and spilling hotly into Armie’s throat. His hips snap up in aftershock, and Armie lets him. Lets him take his pleasure from Armie’s mouth as Armie rubs his stomach, coaxing out a final tremor.

Timmy slumps back until he’s laying down on the bed, totally boneless. Armie shucks off his clothes as quickly as he can, then lays down next to Timmy and licks into his mouth. Timmy whines, sucking on Armie’s tongue to chase the taste of himself, and reaches for Armie’s cock, which by now is leaking precome steadily. Armie’s not in a rush, though, so he lets Timmy play with him. He had missed everything about Timmy when he was away, but maybe his mouth most of all, his rosy lips that chapped easily due to his incessant biting and licking that betrayed his oral fixation. Armie nibbled his lower lip, soothing it with his tongue after, pulling off to breathe and look at Timmy. His eyes, those golden portals, were sleepy with sated desire, the corners crinkled with a smile.

“What are you waiting for, Armie?” Timmy asks, swiping his thumb across Armie’s slit. 

“Just wanted to look at you,” Armie replies, reaches for the lube in the bedside table, his erection deciding he can’t wait any longer. Timmy’s legs fall open, his cock soft, laying on his belly, and Armie pulls one leg over his side so Timmy is on display to the phone recording from the corner of the bed. He circles Timmy’s hole, teases him open with one finger, then two, lets Timmy’s whines fill the room and attaches his mouth to his neck, wanting to claim Timmy in every way.

He presses against Timmy’s prostate, rubs him until Timmy is thrusting back onto Armie’s fingers, adds a third finger. 

“On your knees, baby,” Armie mutters into Timmy’s ear, gently slaps the inside of his thigh with his wet fingers. He adds lube to his cock, pinches himself around the base to calm himself down. He’s been ready to come for 30 minutes, knows that once he’s fully seated in Timmy’s ass he won’t be able to go slow.

Timmy situates himself on his knees and elbows, and Armie presses on his lower back until he arches, looking like a pornographic angel prostrating himself at the feet of a god. Fuck, Armie can’t believe he gets to be the only one to see Timmy like this. Timmy could have anyone he wanted, man or woman, yet he chose Armie. Chose a guy with baggage, probably the least simple choice, and offered himself up with no hesitation, jumped in with both feet, dismissed all of Armie’s concerns for him with a kiss and _I love you, only you_. Shared himself with a level of openness that scared Armie, so used to self-protection and hiding.

“Armiieeee,” Timmy calls out, pulling Armie out of his wonderment, looks back at him with amusement. “Where are you?”

Armie flips Timmy over, kisses him softly. “I changed my mind. I wanna see your face.” 

He guides his cock to Timmy’s ass, enters him in one quick motion. Timmy’s breath catches and he reaches for Armie’s arms, holds onto his wrists. Armie waits a beat, then rolls his hips, watching Timmy’s face for any signs of discomfort. When he doesn’t see any, he pushes Timmy’s legs up by the backs of his thighs and fucks him, hard.

“Yeah, Hammer, oh, _oh fuck_ \- yeah, yeah, you fucking me hard?” Timmy gasps out, his eyes finding Armie’s. He brings his hand to his throat, strokes it twice before reaching for his nipple that is reddened from Armie’s stubble. “I love it when you lose control, you know? I wanna feel you for days. Maybe tomorrow you can fuck me again when it still hurts, you wanna make me cry? C’mon, _faster, Hammer._ ”

Armie grunts, picks up the pace, changes his angle until Timmy screams out _fuck, right there, fuck, stay right there_. Armie slows down but keeps rolling his hips, hitting Timmy’s prostate with every thrust. 

“You’re such a slut for this, aren’t you, a perfect little slut, do you want more? Hmm, should I give you more?” Armie asks, reaches for Timmy’s cock, hard again and bobbing against his stomach, leaving a shiny trail right below his belly button.

Timmy breaks his eye contact with Armie, thrashes his head back and forth. “Yeah I- I’m your slut. I need more. Fu- _fuck_.”

Armie speeds up, feels his orgasm threatening to spill over. “Gonna cum in your ass, baby. Gonna fill you up, leave you dripping until tomorrow. Then I’ll fuck you again, use my cum as lube.” 

Timmy cries out _oh, fuck_ and comes, coating Armie’s hand and his stomach. His ass clenches around Armie’s cock, and Armie comes too, falling onto Timmy and sucking on his collarbone, biting down every time he feels an aftershock ripple through his body. 

They lay there for a minute, catching their breath. Armie remembers the phone is still recording, so he rolls off Timmy, goes to stop the recording, but he decides he wants a close up. 

“Spread your legs, baby, let me see you,” Armie says, pushing out Timmy’s knees. Timmy giggles, a spent, exhausted giggle, hooks his arms underneath his knees. Armie’s cum is dripping slowly out of Timmy’s abused, red-rimmed hole. He holds the phone with one hand, runs his finger around the outside with his free hand, whispers _so beautiful_ , and brings his finger to Timmy’s mouth. “Suck, baby.”

Timmy closes his mouth around Armie’s finger, slurps up, and pops it out of his mouth. He smiles at Armie, his face full of fucked-out joy. “How’d I do? I’m ready for my close up, Mr. Hammer.”

Armie laughs fondly, stops the recording. “I’ll have to watch the dailies, but very promising. You’re gonna be a star, kid.”

He shuts the light off, gets back in bed, pulls the duvet over both of them. Timmy curls up into Armie, presses a kiss into his neck. “Send it to me, will you? I missed you too.”


	5. buy back the secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie and Timmy start to face the music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dreamofhorses, I love you.
> 
> Thank you for all your kudos and comments, they make my day :)

Summer 2020

Timmy wakes up to his phone ringing. He groans, dreading the conversation, because the only person he wants to talk to is sleeping next to him. It’s Brian, and he doesn’t answer until he’s in the living room, wanting to let Armie sleep as long as possible. 

“Hey, Brian.”

He hears a long exhale. 

“Timothée. How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Mm-hm. Have you stopped pouting? We really need to release a statement. Evelyn emailed one to both of you, but neither of you have responded. It’s been two days, we need to get on this. Have you even looked at your social media?”

“Fuck, no. Armie just got home 12 hours ago. Can’t we just ignore it?’

“No, Timothée, we can’t just ignore it. You’re in every tabloid and now there are pictures of Armie looking absolutely murderous in JFK.”

“Well, what did you expect, Brian? He just wanted to get home to me, not bombarded with cameras the second he gets off a six hour flight.”

“He wasn’t even supposed to come to New York! You should have stayed apart until this died down! Now Armie will get the reputation of being unprofessional.”

“Fuck off!” Timmy spits out. He can’t believe what Brian is saying. _Apart? What good would that have done?_

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me. I can’t believe you wanted us to stay apart. Armie feels guilty enough, he would have felt like I was mad at him.”

“As you should be. He’s an idiot for keeping that video on his phone. Frankly, I’m not surprised, but I expected more from you.”

“Brian, what the fuck? Expected more from me?”

“Yes, Timothée, you’re the mature one in this relationship. I would have expected you to realize making a _sex tape_ is a terrible idea.”

“Obviously I don’t think that. And don’t insult Armie like that. He doesn’t deserve it,” Timmy says icily. 

Brian sighs again. “Timmy, you know how I feel about this… this relationship. Armie is too unpredictable, he’s going to hurt your career-”

“Okay, this conversation is over. Don’t put out that statement, we’ll write our own and put it on Instagram,” Timmy snaps. He wants to get off this fucking phone call and go back to bed, back to Armie’s warmth.

“Timothée, that’s not a good idea, that’s why you have-”

“Goodbye, Brian. Don’t call me.” Timmy presses end call, stares at his phone, wants to throw it out of the fucking window.

He crawls back into bed, scoots back into Armie’s embrace, but he can’t fall asleep. Brian’s dislike for Armie and their relationship had always bothered Timmy. Why couldn’t he see that Timmy had never been happier, or felt more stable, than when he was with Armie? Armie and Timmy had told their respective agents, publicists, and managers that they were going to be together two weeks after they realized their feelings for each other were mutual. Everyone had been supportive and willing to work together to make sure their fledgling relationship was protected, but Brian had been vocally disappointed. According to him, Armie was taking advantage of Timmy’s friendship and hero worship, just wanted Timmy to cushion his fall from his divorce and vilification in the press. Timmy had cried when Brian told him, flat out, that Armie was going to fuck him and then fuck him up by running back to a woman. Armie didn’t know the extent of Brian’s vehement hatred of him, and Timmy intended to keep it that way until he convinced Brian that what they had was real and lasting. But that had been almost a year ago. The leaked tape was not going win any favors in Brian’s eyes. 

Timmy rubs away the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He wishes he could confide in Armie about Brian, but he knows, is so sure that he’s held this back from Armie for too long. If he were to come clean now, Armie would question his motives. Would he think Timmy is trying to use his agent’s feelings as an out? On the other hand, he doesn’t know how to convince Brian that Armie is not the bad guy. He huffs in frustration and fidgets, stuck in his head, until he feels Armie’s hand tighten on his stomach.

“Mmmm, what’s wrong?” Armie asks, pressing kisses to Timmy’s bare shoulder. 

“Nothing, nothing, go back to sleep. I think I’m up for the day, I’ll let you sleep.” Timmy tries to shrug off Armie, who only holds him tighter. 

“I’m up now. Who was calling?”

Timmy bites his lip, grips Armie’s hand. “Brian. He wants us to approve the statement Evelyn wrote, but I told him we’d write our own. I- I don’t want to use anyone else’s words.”

Armie chuckles and reaches behind himself for his phone. “Well, fuck it. I guess we don’t have to be careful anymore. No more secrets. Let’s read the drivel our expensive publicists concocted.”

He pulls up his email, ignoring the hundreds of frantic messages from literally every person he knows, and clicks on Evelyn’s email.

_On Monday, our privacy was stolen and disseminated to the public. While it was difficult to process what happened, our first concern went immediately to our families, who are saddened and appalled at an intimate moment gone viral. We want to apologize to them, as well as our respective teams, for the hurt and anger we have caused them. We would also like to apologize for recording ourselves in the first place. It was borne from a moment of excitement and we did not realize the severity of the consequences we deserve. We understand that trust and respect have been lost, and will work hard to make amends._

“Jesus Christ, I fucking hate that,” Timmy says, flopping onto his back. 

Armie deletes the email without responding. “Yeah, that’s not happening. It doesn’t even confirm our relationship. Are they expecting us to deny that we’re together?”

Timmy snorts and snatches Armie’s phone from him, opens up a blank note. “We’re gonna come out, right? Is that what you want?”

“I’ve wanted to come out since New Year’s. The whole let’s-wait-until-the-sequel-promo plan fucking sucks. Write whatever you want. I trust you.”

Timmy glances up at Armie. “We should probably talk to Elizabeth after this. And my parents. They’re probably already on their way here in a giant horse.”

Armie knows Timmy is right, but he dreads both conversations. Elizabeth… well, he can only imagine her rage. Even though the divorce was amicable, she didn’t exactly _love_ the fact that Armie had run into Timmy’s arms. Especially so soon after everything was settled. She had been convinced that Armie had lied about cheating on her with Timmy. She had threatened to take him to court to contest the divorce agreement, but Armie had good lawyers. Her anger had turned into snideness, never missing a chance to discount Timmy as a rebound and a child who would lose interest as soon as Armie stopped worshipping him. Surely her anger has reappeared.

And Timmy’s parents. He knew he was treading on very thin ice with them already. Timmy always tried to reassure him that they didn’t hate him, they were just protective of Timmy’s heart, but Armie had been roundly interrogated one afternoon when Timmy was filming. About his motives, his feelings, what would happen if they broke up and Timmy was attached to the kids, when or _if_ they would come out. Why can’t Armie prove to them, and Elizabeth, that he’s serious about Timmy? That this is it for him. He’ll fight like a cornered raccoon to keep them together, but he knows that Timmy wouldn’t be able to stand it if his parents started to openly disapprove. 

“Armie, it’s going to be okay. Get out of your head. We’ll deal with their reactions together, okay? Elizabeth may be angry, but she can’t keep the kids from you, and my parents. Well, they’ll get over it. I’ll make sure they do,” Timmy says softly. He strokes Armie’s cheek so gently Armie could cry. He could feel Armie retreating, trying to hide the fact that he was scared shitless. 

Armie exhales, a shuddering breath. “I don’t want any of them to hate me. I’ve tried-”

“Okay, shh, shh. Let’s post something first. Maybe their reactions will surprise us. Hell, maybe our statement will surprise them.”

Armie nods, settles his cheek on top of Timmy’s head. Timmy starts typing. 

_We are in love. And we’ve been in a relationship for a year, which started after Armie’s divorce was finalized. The video that was released on Monday was never meant to be seen by anyone besides ourselves, and it was made out of love and desire. We won’t apologize for making it. We’re heartbroken, of course, that so many people have seen it and probably made assumptions about our relationship, without really knowing us. And we hadn’t planned on coming out at this time, but we are not ashamed of who we are and who we love. At the risk of sounding cheesy, we had the stars, you and I. And this is given once only. We feel lucky everyday that we found the stars in each other. Peace and love._

“Okay?” Timmy asks, holding the phone up closer to Armie’s face.

“It’s perfect. Screenshot that shit and let’s show those motherfuckers how it’s done.” Armie takes his phone back, texts the image to Timmy, and preps his Instagram post. 

Timmy looks up from his phone. “Ready?”

“Ready.”


	6. didn't anyone ever tell you it's ok to shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to dreamofhorses for everything. 
> 
> Sorry for all the wasted water.

New Year’s Eve 2019

Armie looks around their apartment, black and gold balloons covering the ceiling and party hats lined up like a forest of trees on the coffee table. It was the night of their first party as a couple and they had spent the entire day cleaning, decorating, and running errands all over the Upper West Side. It was the first night they were coming out as a couple, albeit only to a small group of trusted family and friends. The last eight months had been a rollercoaster of emotions and experiences, moving so fast he felt like he had constant whiplash. It hardly felt real that he was standing in their apartment, _their living room_ , about to welcome people to either criticize or celebrate their relationship. 

He was on his second whiskey, neat, hoping it would give him enough courage to stand up straight and openly declare that he was not. Timmy was in the bathroom, sorting out his hair, unaware of Armie’s warring emotions. He didn’t want to come off reluctant, he knew how excited Timmy was to finally show off Armie as his boyfriend. _Fuck. Get a fucking grip, Hammer._

Timmy walks out of the bathroom and oh. He’s wearing eyeliner, just a bit of smudgy black along his lower lashes. If Armie wasn’t frozen in fear of the coming unknown, his knees would have buckled.

“Too much?” Timmy pulls at the curl over his forehead, self conscious. 

It takes Armie a second to respond. “No, you’re perfect,” his voice gruff, still slightly burning from his last sip.

Timmy beams at him, crosses the room to peck Armie’s lips once, twice. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m trying not to be.”

****

Once everyone has arrived, eaten the catered Italian, emptied a few bottles of champagne, Timmy and Armie move to stand in front of the TV, where an undistinguishable pop group was singing and dressed in coordinating thousand-dollar coats. Timmy clears his throat, nods at Will to pause the jazz mix Armie insisted on as the playlist because _no one can hear themselves think, much less talk, with Cudi blasting, Timmy._

“Um. Hey, everyone. Thanks for coming tonight, we’re really grateful.” 

Armie glances at Nick and Ashton propped up on the window sill. They’re staring back him with undecipherable expressions. He decides they’re somewhere between amused and confused. 

“Well, I don’t really know how to say this. I thought I could wing it but…” Timmy trails off, rubs at his neck, eyes dropping to his socked feet.

Armie realizes Timmy can’t say it. All the excitement and manic energy leading up to this moment were just masking Timmy’s anxiety, now plain as day. Armie slips his hand not holding his fifth, _no, sixth_ , whiskey into Timmy’s hand. 

“We are together. We’re, uh, we’re dating. Actually, we live together. We bought this apartment together. Four months ago.” Armie can’t shut up; now that he’s said it he can’t turn off the faucet. “Timmy let me crash with him, when, uh, when I had to leave LA, and…” He shrugged. “We’re in love. And this is it for me.”

He feels Timmy squeeze his hand, hard.

“Mazel tov, darlings!” Nicole sings out, her glass of champagne raised high. The other seven guests are shocked out of their silence and whoop and clap. Armie hears a _get it, buddy_ from Nick, and he rolls his eyes. 

Timmy shifts his arms so they’re wrapped around Armie’s waist, and tips his head back. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“I love you, kid,” Armie whispers back before pressing his lips to Timmy’s. Timmy giggles and immediately licks Armie’s lip, asking for permission for a real kiss. Armie encircles Timmy’s shoulders with his arms, careful to not spill his drink on him. Angles his head, opens his mouth to meet Timmy’s tongue with own.

“Oh, get a room, old guy!” Ashton shouts, laughing.

Armie gives him the finger without breaking the kiss.

Summer 2020

Timmy is on his second cup of coffee while Armie is in the shower when there’s a knock at the door. It shocks him out of his quiet reflection on what the day will bring. They’d agreed to leave their phones in the bedroom for the day, neither eager to stay glued to the responses surely rolling in by now. It’s only been two hours, breakfast cooked and eaten, dishes washed, a month-old _New York Times_ crossword halfheartedly attempted before Armie declares he’s positively grimy. Timmy had shooed him away, said he’d be a minute.

More knocking. Timmy rolls his eyes, pushes back from the table. It’s probably his parents, here to _gently scold_ and _gently_ comfort, probably in that order. They always thought he was too delicate, too fragile to handle _adult things_. Which was really just code for Armie things. 

He swings the door open, already going in for a hug, but stops at the sight of two stilettoed feet. 

“Timothée.”

“E-Elizabeth, what are you doing here?” Timmy’s voice shakes. The kids aren’t due to arrive for another week and a half. 

“Well, since neither of you have bothered to respond to my texts, or calls, or emails, and I’m fresh out of carrier pigeons, I guess I have to yell at you in person. Are you going to let me in?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, come in.” He steps back to allow her past the threshold, a tiny Louis Vuitton carry-on rolling behind her. “Armie’s in the shower. I’ll go tell him you’re here.”

“Don’t forget your camera. Or are you going to start using Instagram Live now?”

“Liz…”

“Don’t call me that. I’ll wait.”

Timmy rubs his neck, his eyes stinging with the threat of tears. He lets out a sigh, walks to the bathroom. The steam billows out of the door as he opens it.

“Hey, kid, finally! I’ve used almost all the hot water, get in.” Armie opens the shower door, pokes his head out and waggles his eyebrows at Timmy. 

Timmy is not going to cry right now. He crosses his arms behind his back and pinches his forearm to ground himself. “Um, Elizabeth is here.”

“What?”

“Elizabeth. She is in the kitchen. Right now.” Short sentences. It’s all he can manage without letting the lump in his throat turn into a sob. 

Armie slams the shower off so hard a cascade of bottles fall off the slippery shelf. “What the everloving _fuck_ does she think she’s doing?” Armie is yelling, slapping a towel around his body and pulling on a robe in a flurry. “What did she say to you? She can’t barge in here whenever she’s mad at me. Are the kids with her? God, if she brought them here just so she can yell at me, I’m gonna-”

“No, the kids aren’t here. I thought my parents were knocking, I didn’t even look through the peephole, I’m-”

“No, no, it’s not your fault. Why don’t you wait in the bedroom?”

“Oh my _god_ , Armie, shut up. I’m not going to wait in the bedroom like a fucking _child_. I’m fine.” Timmy turns to leave the bathroom, wanting this unpleasant situation finished and out of their apartment as quickly as possible. 

“Hey, hey, wait, I’m sorry,” Armie murmurs, pulling Timmy to his chest and kissing the top of his head. “I just don’t want her to be mean to you, you don’t deserve that.”

“Well, neither do you, so I’m gonna make sure that doesn’t happen. C’mon, let’s get it over with.”

They walk back to the kitchen holding hands to find Elizabeth waist deep in their fridge. 

“Elizabeth, what are you doing?” Armie sighs.

“Is this what you’re feeding Harper and Ford when they’re here? Bagels and orange juice? From concentrate? And takeout pizza? Where are the vegetables?”

Timmy rolls his eyes. “Obviously not. It’s just been me for two months, I don’t keep a fully stocked-”

“I was not addressing you, Timothée, you are not their parent.”

“Liz, enough,” Armie cuts in. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Armie, you are so dense. Why do you think I’m here? A little social visit to my two favorite lovebirds?” She laughs, but it sounds sarcastic and cold. “No, I flew all the way here and left my babies with your mom so I could ask you _what the hell is wrong with you_? A _sex tape_? If you think I’m letting my children live here, in your _twink den_ with your _boy toy_ -”

“SHUT UP!” Armie yells so loudly Timmy flinches. “Shut. The fuck. Up. I understand you’re mad at me. But you cannot, absolutely cannot insult Timmy. And you can’t keep the kids from seeing me. The contract is untouchable. If you try to take me to court, again, it will only be a waste of money. You know that. So I don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish here, except make Timmy feel like shit, and I won’t let you do that.”

Elizabeth steels her gaze at Armie. “When are you going to grow up and realize he’s playing house with you? You’re such a child, thinking that someone so much more talented than you won’t get bored with you-”

Timmy swears under his breath. “Elizabeth, stop. I don’t have to prove myself to you, only him, and I do that every day. I don’t care what you think about me, but don’t you dare talk to Armie like that. I’d like you leave now.”

Elizabeth’s lip curled into a smirk. “Oh, how cute. Defending each other from the big bad bitch. Armie, haven’t you thought about the children _once_ since you let that tape get out? Or are you too preoccupied with getting your dick wet to care?”

Armie feels his control slipping. Of course he’s thought about the kids. Woke up every hour last night with terror that they’d never forgive them, afraid some mean kids will show them once they’re older and know he’s their father. His chin trembles, matches the shaking of his hand in Timmy’s. 

Timmy looks down at their hands, up to his face, can see Armie’s eyes bright with tears. He steps in front of Armie. “Of course he’s thinking about them. How dare you insinuate otherwise? And he didn’t let it happen, it was stolen from us!” It was stolen from us, he thinks. Our privacy, our love.

“What, are you his PR now?” Elizabeth scoffs. “He can’t answer for himself so he has a- a _boy_ fight his battles for him?”

“If he needs me to fight this battle, or any battle, I would. I would do _anything_ for him. Leave us alone now, please. We look forward to seeing the kids next weekend. Maybe Nick should fly with them.” Timmy stares at her, focuses on not crying, not showing any weakness, when all he wants is to collapse and fall apart.

Elizabeth purses her lips, smoothes her ponytail back from her face. “I have a meeting in midtown anyway. I’ll send Nick with the kids. I can start my spa weekend early, then.”

She doesn’t bother to say goodbye, just gathers her suitcase and purse and lets herself out. Timmy slumps back against Armie’s chest, who wraps his arms around Timmy and buries his face into his neck, and finally lets the tears fall.

Timmy covers Armie’s hands with his own, but he can’t cry. He’s too angry. He knows Armie, knows he’s going to beat himself up about how the tape will affect his kids. But Timmy doesn’t know how to fix this. And they’re still too young to understand, so how long do they have before some asshole kid at school thinks it’s funny to tease them about it? He doesn’t know. He turns in Armie’s embrace, pulls Armie’s head down to the junction of his neck and shoulder, and cards his fingers through Armie’s damp hair. 

“I love you, so much. And it’s gonna be okay, okay? We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Timmy soothes, low and soft. “You’re the best father I’ve ever known, and Hops and Ford know it too.”

His words make Armie squeeze him tighter, and he takes a big, shuddering breath against Timmy’s neck. “I don’t know what to do,” Armie whispers. 

“Me neither, babe. But I’ll be right here while we figure it out, okay?”

Armie nods against his neck. “Can we go take another shower? I feel dirty again.”

“Yeah, babe, let’s go.” Timmy nudges Armie so he raises his head, but he won’t look at Timmy. His face is flushed, eyes puffy, his long lashes glued together. “Hey, look at me.” Armie looks at him, the red in his eyes offsetting the blue so they look even more brilliant than normal. “There you are,” Timmy smiles. He brushes a couple of lingering tears away with his thumbs, stands on his tiptoes to press kisses all over Armie’s face. “Let’s take a bath instead.”

Timmy stops at their bedroom. “Get the bath started. I’ll be there in a sec.”

Armie just nods, continues his shuffle down the hall. Timmy unplugs his phone from the charger, his lock screen showing a deluge of texts, calls, and Instagram notifications. He bypasses it all, pulls up his thread with his mom.

_Timmy: Hey, Mama, I know I owe you and Dad a visit. I was going to have you over this afternoon, but Elizabeth was just here and Armie’s not doing well. Can we come over for dinner tomorrow? We’ll bring the wine. We’ll need to get outside by then._

His mom replies in less than a minute.

_Mama: Of course, Timothée. We love you. And Armie. Give him a hug for us. How does six sound? I’ll make spaghetti. Still your favorite, right?_

_Timmy: Perfect. We love you too. And I’m sorry._

_Mama: Not your fault, darling. We’re sorry it’s happening to you._

Timmy scrunches his face, a wave of emotion hitting him. How the fuck did he get so lucky with his parents? He turns on his bluetooth, connects to the speaker in the bathroom, picks his Lana playlist, sheds clothes as he walks down the hall. Armie deserves parents who are this understanding. Deserves to know the feeling of unconditional love. Timmy loves him unconditionally, no strings, no reservations. But it’s different than parental love. Timmy can’t help but feel like all of Armie’s insecurities, his struggle to feel accepted, stem from his parents hammering _garbage_ into his brain. 

He stops outside the door, watches Armie perched naked on the side of the huge soaker tub they had added after buying the apartment. He had forced Armie to sit in all the bathtubs at Restoration Hardware, climbing in after him and settling himself between Armie’s legs. Told Armie that they weren’t buying until they found the one that fit both of them. He remembers Armie’s tight-lipped grin, a hand ruffling through his hair that was supposed to be nonchalant but came off reverent. 

Armie looks over his shoulder, takes in Timmy propped against the doorframe totally nude. “You’re at least six feet too far away from me.”

Timmy giggles, pushes off the door. “Like what you see?”

“Maybe.” Armie turns fully to face Timmy, who steps in between Armie’s legs. Armie buries his face against Timmy’s stomach, kneads his cheeks, and blows a raspberry. “Come on, there’s bubbles.”

Timmy gets in first, situates himself against the back of the tub. Armie raises his eyebrows at him. “What? I’m big spoon today.” 

“I’ll show you who’s got a big spoon.”

“Armie. Oh my god. Is that a big dick reference?” Timmy howls with laughter at Armie’s smug look, splashes him with lavender-scented bubbles. “Get in, big spoon.”

He holds Armie against him once Armie finally settles into the water, strokes his chest hair and his abs, which were more defined than usual thanks to the stunts he got to do on The Man from U.N.C.L.E. sequel. Armie strokes Timmy’s thighs from his hips to his knees.

“Thank you, for today, with… with Liz,” Armie says, so softly Timmy can barely hear him. “I’m sorry I froze.”

“Hey, no sorries allowed during bathtime. I’d do it again, over and over again. Just like you would do for me.”

“Yeah, I would,” Armie stops his rubbing of Timmy’s thighs. 

Timmy moves his hands to Armie’s nipples, soft in the hot water. “Good. Have I told you how perfect you are, for me?” He whispers into Armie’s ear, licking up the edge from lobe to cartilage. 

Armie tries to shift around to face Timmy. “No, let me do this for you,” Timmy says, circling Armie’s nipples until they harden. “Did you know that?”

Armie huffs, squirms against Timmy’s cock, which had been half hard since Armie got in the tub with him. 

“C’mon, baby, I wanna hear you say it.” Timmy’s voice is hardly audible, speaking directly into Armie’s ear. 

“I know,” Armie gasps, as Timmy pinches both his nipples at the same time. 

“Good boy.” Timmy moves one hand down Armie’s torso, bites his neck at the same moment he runs his fingers down Armie’s cock, hard and almost breaching the surface. He sucks on his neck, lightly palms Armie’s balls, drags his hand up in a fist around Armie. 

“ _Fuck_ , Tim, _uh_ , more, please.” Armie lifts his hips, trying to chase Timmy’s hand. Timmy tweaks a nipple.

“ _Behave_. I seem to remember someone saying that to me once or twice. Surely you can, just this once.” Timmy pulls Armie flush to his cock, now fully hard, and circles his hips. 

Armie lays his head back on Timmy’s shoulder and grinds back against Timmy’s cock sliding along his ass. 

“Good boy, just like that,” Timmy encourages, mouthing at Armie’s neck and reaching for his cock. He starts at the head, twisting his hand slowly, focusing on the spot on the underside. “Look at you, you’re so good.” Timmy increases his speed, moving from root and tip and twisting at the top. “Does this feel good?”

“S-so good, Timmy.” Armie’s eyes are shut, his mouth slack. 

Timmy’s fist flies over Armie’s cock, whispers praise, until Armie is struggling to stay plastered to Timmy’s front. Timmy tightens his fist, moves it to the base of Armie’s cock. “Fuck my fist, baby, take it.”

Armie groans, his hips snapping up immediately, not lasting long before his orgasm spills over. Timmy wants to just hold Armie, even though his dick is throbbing with the need to get off. But Armie has other plans. He surges to the opposite end of the tub, sits against the back. 

“Come on me, Timmy, please, come on me,” Armie whines, desperate, holding on the edges. 

Timmy is momentarily stunned at the sudden action. He scrambles to his knees, his dick already in his hand, and he straddles Armie’s hips as he comes in spurts on Armie’s face, painting his beautiful face in stripes. Armie keeps his mouth open the whole time, and once Timmy’s spent he falls forward, face in Armie’s neck, before pulling himself up and kissing Armie, wet, needy. 

“God, Armie, you just- you are so perfect. I love you, I love you so much,” Timmy pants out between their sloppy kisses. He wants to stay there, on top of Armie, for the rest of the day, maybe the rest of the week, but Armie stands, pulling Timmy up with him. Moves them to the shower, starts the water, holds Timmy, their bodies connected from their knees all the way up. 

“Thank you,” Armie whispers, his voice unsteady. “Thank you for knowing what I need, always. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Timmy tilts back, looks at Armie with a dopey, sated smile on his face. “Makes two of us. Let’s watch Netflix all day. There’s a new season of Great British Bake-Off.”

Armie smoothes Timmy’s soaked curls out of his eyes. “Okay, you nerd. Carell turned you soft.”


	7. it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie and Timmy venture outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, sorry?
> 
> also there is now a final chapter count! 
> 
> thanks to brooke for her void screaming and tattoo sharing

_Well, that wasn’t so much of a disaster_ , Armie thinks, glancing over at Timmy as they wait for the elevator. He hadn’t been interrogated at dinner with Nicole and Marc, but his nerves were frayed from waiting for it. 

“That went well, right?” Timmy asks softly, as the doors ping shut and they start descending. “I don’t wanna say I told you so but…”

“Yeah, yeah, you were right,” Armie shoots back with a smile. He can’t say anything else once he sees Timmy’s face, awash in adoration. A lump in his throat rises, threatens to spill over, but he pushes it away with a chuckle. “Remind me next time that you’re always right.”

Timmy just grins at him as the doors open, not bothering to look anywhere but Armie. “Did you call an Uber?” Timmy asks, as they amble across the sparsely-decorated lobby and push open the door.

“Oh, shit, I for-”

 _FLASH. FLASH FLASH FLASH._

_“Armie! Timmy! Armie! Timmy!”_

“What the _fuck_?” Armie swears under his breath, stunned at the crowd surrounding him and Timmy on the sidewalk. “Tim, we gotta go. We gotta get back inside.”

The crowd presses in, almost as if they heard Armie and wanted to keep them outside. Armie can’t make out any faces due to the incessant flashes of cameras, and he feels blinded from the onslaught. He slaps his arm around Timmy’s shoulders and hugs him tight to his side, brings his other arm up to block his eyes from the light. 

One paparazzo sticks a microphone close to them. “How long have you two been fucking? Armie, did you take his virginity when you filmed _Call Me By Your Name_?” Armie hears Timmy suck in a breath and hold it. _Get him out of here, Armie, you idiot. Where are the fucking cabs?_

He starts moving to the right, uncaring if he pushes any of the paps who don’t seem to care either, and he pulls Timmy, who hasn’t said a word or looked up since walking outside, along with him as the mob starts throwing out questions. 

“You’re the top, right, Armie?”

“Don’t you guys think your age difference is a little creepy?”

“What does Elizabeth think of your new little boyfriend, Armie? Did she know you were gay all along?”

“Timmy, hey, Timmy, give us a smile, doll!”

“Yeah, how about a kiss?”

“Come on, tell us about him, Timmy! You weren’t this shy in the video!”

“Armie, what do you have to say to the people who think the language you used is abusive?”

Armie squeezes Timmy closer to him when he hears that. He’s almost got them to the end of the block, but there haven’t been any available cabs. He finally sees one coming the opposite way and he all but runs into the street flagging it down.

A man with a video camera gets in front of them and leers at Timmy. “Aw, come on, princess, you’re used to being on camera, why don’t you look happy?”

Armie bristles and puts himself between Timmy and the other guy. “Listen, man, back the fuck off.” He tries to pull Timmy around the guy to get to their waiting taxi, but the guy sticks close to them. 

“Hey, Armie, why don’t you stick it in him again, that seemed to really make him-”

Armie can’t hear anything else after that, just blood rushing in his ears and his own voice telling him to shut this guy up as soon as possible. He grabs the man by the collar of his shirt and twists it in his left hand, and raises his right hand in a fist.

“Leave us the fuck alone or I swear to god I’ll beat the shit out of you,” Armie says in a low rumble.

The guy’s eyes widen. “Is that a threat? I’ll sue the shit out of you.”

Armie’s lip curls and he’s about to respond, but he feels Timmy’s hands enclose his hand still ready to punch. He lets Timmy lace their fingers together.

“Armie, come on, let’s go home. Take me home,” Timmy whispers shakily, his eyes still trained on his shoes.

Armie shoves the guy out of the way with his left hand and surges toward the taxi with Timmy in tow. He waits until the door is shut before shoving a $100 bill at the driver with a shaking hand and directions to drive down to TriBeCa and up the east side of Manhattan to throw the paps off their trail.They don’t know where they live and Armie will be damned if they’re forced to move because of them. 

He sinks into his seat and looks up at the roof. His body is heavy, exhaustion setting in after the stress of dinner with Timmy’s parents and the utter panic of the paparazzi mob. How the fuck did they get found? They had ordered an Uber from their apartment to Hell’s Kitchen and both were wearing hats as a thin veil of protection, at Armie’s insistence. They weren’t hiding anymore, but it was their first venture in public since coming out, so they were trying to take it slow. 

The rest of the previous day had been a blur of replying to emails, texts, and voicemails. Timmy had quietly suggested that they tackle their correspondence in order to avoid a confrontation like the one with Elizabeth, and Armie had reluctantly agreed. He wanted to reply with a “fuck off” to everyone, but he opted for a generic message asking for privacy and more time to process. Which was really just a polite way to say fuck off. 

Timmy had called Brian in the evening, and halfway through the call he had wandered down the hall to their bedroom. Armie had taken that time to call Elizabeth while flopped down on the couch. Even though he was pissed at her for barging in, he knew that she was probably going crazy from lack of control over the situation. She had been apologetic but still icy, but Armie’s anxiety over being taken back to court was soothed. 

Before going to Timmy’s parents’ apartment, they had read through a new play that Timmy would be workshopping for the next two weeks. Timmy was excited about working with John Patrick Shanley again, and had high hopes that he would be cast if the play made it to Broadway in the spring. They had sat in opposite corners on the couch, socked feet playing footsie, reading lines. Armie tried to make Timmy laugh by altering his voice for each character, and during a sex scene he had leaned over and palmed Timmy through his jeans until Timmy threw his script to the floor and pounced on Armie.

Dinner had been stilted, awkward, as Armie tried to find his footing with Nicole and Marc. He hadn’t been able to look them in the eyes until he offered to help set the table. Nicole had placed her hand over his while he fuddled with napkins, and waited until he looked up at her. She had assured him that they still loved him and were proud of both of them that they came out together. He had released a breath he didn’t know he was holding and hugged her tightly until she patted him on the back. 

Armie sighs, rubs his hands over his face. He was finally feeling like they were handling everything. Now both of their faces are probably dominating the Internet and they’ll both be getting a fresh wave of calls and emails. He glances over at Timmy, who is huddled against the opposite door, staring out the window.

“Hey, kid, you okay?” Armie asks, reaching over to rub Timmy’s neck. Timmy puffs out a long breath, rolls his neck into Armie’s grip, shrugs one shoulder. Armie can see his chin wobble before he turns away again.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright, we’re alright,” Armie soothes, as he scoots over and pulls Timmy into his arms. 

Timmy struggles against the hug. “Please- I’m- I’m trying to hold it together until we get home. I need space.”

Armie lets go immediately but doesn’t move back to the other side. He sits, helplessly, and stares at the back of Timmy’s head as the taxi makes it way across Central Park to the west side. 

Steve is waiting for them outside their building when the taxi pulls up to the curb. He has an umbrella, even though it’s not raining, and opens Timmy’s door with it fully extended.

“I, uh, saw some shit online, so-”

“Thanks, man,” Armie replies, when it’s clear Timmy is not going to respond. “We appreciate it.”

Timmy watches the number climb higher in the elevator and Armie watches him, his nerves increasing with every floor they pass. 

The walk to their apartment feels like walking across broken glass, Armie’s sure that if he steps too loudly Timmy will unleash the fury that is surely swirling inside. He drops his key at the door, rolls his eyes at himself, lets them into the dark entryway. 

As soon as Timmy locks the door behind him, he slides down to the floor, his back pressed against the door and his forehead on his knees. Armie stands in front of him, shoes still on, unsure if Timmy still needs space. He decides to wait for him in the living room and turns to walk away, but is stopped by Timmy’s hand grabbing his ankle. 

Then Timmy’s shoulders start shaking. It was a warm day so he’s in a white tee shirt, and Armie can see every slight movement of Timmy’s scapula. 

“Timmy?” Armie breathes, pets Timmy’s head as gently as he can.

Timmy takes a deep, gasping breath. “Armie.. I-” His voice is thick, and breaks off into wracking sobs that shake his body harder than before. Armie drops to the ground, his back against the coat closet, and pulls Timmy into his lap, one arm wrapped around his torso and the other around his head. He doesn’t really know why Timmy is crying so loudly, but he rocks him back and forth in an effort to calm him down.

It’s not working. Timmy is clutching Armie’s shirt now, his sobs getting louder and his tears dampening the front of Armie’s shirt. Armie combs his hair back with his fingers, tries to see Timmy’s eyes, but they’re screwed shut, nothing getting out or in except fat tears that course down his face and get caught in his mouth. 

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, and he tries to talk Timmy through some deep breathing, but nothing works. His back is starting to seize up and his left leg is asleep, but he doesn’t move except to make the tiny rocking motions that always seem to calm down Ford. 

Timmy seems to run out of tears, but he’s still wailing in… despair? Anguish? Until his breaths are too fast, too shallow, and he’s clutching at Armie’s shirt in panic. 

“Timmy, BREATHE. I need you to breathe, come on, in… and out. In…. and out. Can you feel me breathing, breathe with me,” Armie pleads, as he holds Timmy’s hand to his chest and inhales and exhales deeply and slowly. Timmy isn’t looking at him still, but he’s watching their hands on Armie’s chest, and he starts breathing more evenly. 

“What’s wrong,” Armie whispers into Timmy’s hair. “Please talk to me.”

Timmy tenses. “I’m… sorry, Armie, it’s, um, it’s too much. I- uh, I think I’m just going to go to bed in the kids’ room tonight, if that’s okay.”

“What? Why?” Armie splutters.

Timmy stands up, toes off his shoes, looks anywhere but Armie’s face. “I’m, _fuck_ , I’m sorry. I thought I could handle it. Please- I’m going to cry again if I- if I have to keep talking.” His breath hitches on the last word, and he looks up at the ceiling, his hands clasped behind his neck.

Armie stands, slowly, slowly, he doesn’t want to spook Timmy. _What is too much? The relationship? The leak? The paps_? “Okay, you take our room. I’ll sleep out here.” His lip trembles, but he has to keep it together for Timmy. “Lemme grab a pair of sweats, then you can sleep.”

He leans in to press a kiss on Timmy’s hair, who lets him, even though he makes no moves to return the kiss. _That’s good, right_? 

Armie ends up sitting on the floor next to their bedroom door, straining to hear any noises coming from Timmy, who locked himself in the room as soon as Armie changed. He was going to move to the couch as soon as he felt Timmy was asleep, but he felt himself drifting off against the wall. 

He wakes up at six with a terrible crick in his back and a wine headache, and the door is still locked. He hovers in the kitchen, makes a pot of coffee, butters some toast but makes no effort to eat it, thumbs through the mail scattered across the table. He tries the door again even though there’s been no sound or movement from Timmy, and ends up sitting on the couch, staring at the hallway.

He’s shaken out of his vigil by his phone. He doesn’t remember putting it on the coffee table. He goes to decline the call but it’s Brian, Timmy’s agent. _Why is Brian calling him_? 

“Hello?” Armie greets Brian tentatively.

“Can I speak to Timothée, please?” Brian skips the greeting, down to business.

Armie glances back to the hallway. “He’s, uh, I think he’s still sleeping.”

“Can you wake him up, please? He was supposed to be in my office 30 minutes ago and his phone is off.”

Armie’s eyes widen. Timmy never misses a meeting, even if they make him jittery and wound up every time. “I… I can’t. He locked the door, I could go-”

“Would this have anything to do with you almost punching a photographer last night?” Brian sounds too even, too contained.

“He was a leech, Brian, you should have heard the way he was talking to Tim-”

“And whose fault is that?”

All of the oxygen seems to have left the room. Or maybe Armie forgot how to breathe. “I- what?”

Brian sighs, as if Armie is the simplest man he’s ever talked to. “This conversation should have happened months ago. I don’t think you’re right for Timmy. And I think, deep down, you know that.”

 _No, no no no. Months ago_? Armie scrambles for a response, but he still can’t get a full breath. He stands, starts pacing around the couch, the only path in the apartment that won’t wake Timmy. “Brian, what are you saying? You- you’ve never said anything…” Armie trails off. _God, what is going on_.

“Timmy made me promise to keep quiet, but he’s missed a meeting, which he’s never done before, and it seems he’s kicked you out of your room, so I’m going to tell you what he’s too afraid to tell you. You’re holding him back, and now you’ve turned him into a joke. I mean, Jesus, Fallon called him Twinkothée during his monologue last night. I knew, from the start, that you’d fuck up. But Timmy was _so sure_ about you, _he has good intentions, Brian_ , like you’re some sort of nobleman courting the heroine of some Austen novel. I knew, though, I knew that you were using him. As an escape, a rebound, I don’t know, but you need to end it. For Timmy. He has the potential to be the greatest living actor, but that’s not going to happen if he has to keep cleaning up your messes. Directors love publicity, but not the kind you attract.” Brian pauses, waits for Armie to respond, but he can’t, can’t say anything because Brian’s right, who is he kidding, thinking he was anything but a problem for Timmy. He’s stopped pacing, works his throat to say something, say anything, but Brian can’t see him, so he continues. “You should at least give him some space to heal, Armie. He won’t say it to you, but he’s scared. Scared of being rejected by all those producers who still give a shit about this kind of stuff.”

 _This kind of stuff. Right. He means the gay kind of stuff_. Armie clears his throat. “I don’t want that for him either.”

Brian hums, clearly pleased with Armie’s answer. “Right. So why don’t you talk to Timmy today? Just.. tell him you still care for him, which is why you need to end things before you hurt him more.”

“Right. Today.” Armie feels hollow, out of body. “I should go.”

“Thanks for being so understanding. I appreciate it. Do you need me to book a hotel room for tonight? I can get you a comped room at the Bowery…” Brian says, tone switching from annoyed to kind in one breath. 

Armie exhales, sits down on the couch, stares at the coffee table’s organized clutter they’ve accumulated over the last… _no, stop, don’t fucking think that_. “No, man, it’s fine. I’ll figure it out. Thanks.”

He hangs up, stares at the phone, his background photo staring back at him, a picture he took of Timmy walking through Washington Square Park last summer, the day of their first kiss. Well, first kiss as Armie and Timmy. He closes his eyes, rests his head on the back of the couch, the memories of their first weeks as friends first, then lovers, come flooding into his mind. They had spent that day watching documentaries and playing some video game Timmy was obsessed with, before taking a walk to get ramen in the evening twilight. Timmy’s street was quiet that night, and he had slipped his hand into Armie’s on the walk back, lightly, as if too much pressure would startle Armie. 

Armie had been sleeping on the couch since staying at Timmy’s, but that night, Timmy stood up, swiped a hand through his hair, and stammered through _hey, you can, like, sleep in my bed with me. If- I mean, if you want to, you don’t have to, I just feel bad cuz that couch isn’t really big enough for you_. Had faced the wall as Armie tentatively climbed in next to him, then rolled over, stared at Armie for a beat, before leaning in, pressing his lips to Armie’s, soft, no tongue, but long enough. _With intent_. Armie hadn’t moved, didn’t want to push, until Timmy huffed against his lips and wryly asked _well, are you going to kiss me back_?

Armie wanted to cry, thinking about every new milestone in their relationship, both of them hesitant to cross a new line, until Timmy had finally sat him down a week after the kiss and laid it all out. His yearslong crush that he thought was totally unattainable, his guilt at feeling hope and maybe a little excitement at the news of Armie’s divorce, his realization that they could cohabitate successfully, which turned into a desire for a real relationship that he didn’t want to ignore anymore. Armie had responded with a giddy laugh like a kid getting a pony for Christmas, and dragged Timmy into the bedroom to cross _that_ milestone. 

After that, they just worked together. They had told their respective teams of their relationship, agreed to keep it on the downlow until the sequel came out, then they would, too. Timmy hired Armie’s publicist, just for simplicity’s sake, and everyone was on board. At least, Armie had thought so. He didn’t know when Brian had decided that he didn’t like their relationship, but he had said months. _Why hadn’t Timmy said anything? Does that mean he agrees with Brian?_ He must’ve wanted to let Armie down easy, maybe after he finished filming. 

Armie rolls his eyes at himself, but he still doesn’t cry. He’s sick of crying. Maybe he fucked up Timmy’s plans to break up with the whole leaked video situation, and now Timmy didn’t know how to do it. Armie would have to do it for him. 

He resigns himself to take a shower, even though he just puts his same pajamas on from the night before, since the door is still locked. At least he’ll be somewhat clean when he leaves tonight. He cleans up the kitchen, tossing the now-cold toast and rinsing out the coffee pot. He’s sorting through the mail, mostly junk, when he hears a soft click of the door being unlocked, followed by shuffling feet, a toilet flushing, and running water. 

He turns around to see Timmy rubbing sleep out of his eyes, his ( _Armie’s_ ) t shirt hanging off one shoulder and covering his boxers. 

“Morning, Armie,” Timmy murmurs, his voice soft and strained.

Armie scratches his neck, a little too hard, to keep himself from crying. “Hey, kid. We gotta talk.”


	8. i would’ve broke my heart in two, tryin’ to save a part of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue of sorts will come tomorrow, I don't want to leave ya hanging too long! 
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments, they make my day!!
> 
> Thanks, Brooke, for ignoring your sleep timer and reading through for me. <3

“Hey, kid. We gotta talk.”

Timmy freezes. He can see the tension in Armie’s shoulders; his face, what is normally open and relaxed while looking at Timmy is tight, sad eyes and mouth drawn in a hard line. “Armie, what’s wrong? Did- I’m sorry about last night, I-”

Armie scoffs, rolls his eyes, but the tension is still there. “What the fuck are you sorry about? The horde of paps? The- the godawful names they called you? You being the only person who’s successfully talked me down from a fight?” He rubs a hand through his hair. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“Okay, then what we do need to talk about?” Timmy makes a wide berth around Armie, slowly, as if he’s skirting a particularly nasty horse with a mean kick. He sits down at the table, clasps his hands on top of the solid walnut to preempt any shaking. 

Armie sighs, more of an hard exhale, his mouth a study of control. He looks uncomfortable, standing in the middle of the kitchen, no man’s land, but he makes no move toward Timmy.

“I, uh. I think we should take some time,” Armie says, his eyes trained on the space just past Timmy’s hands.

“Time for what? A vacation?” 

Armie groans. “No, baby. I mean time apart.”

Timmy sucks in a breath. “What?”

“Timmy, please. I- I think I should go. Get a hotel room.” 

“What the fuck are you saying? Are you trying to break up with me? What the fuck, Hammer,” Timmy spits out. He shoves his chair back, jumps to his feet. “Are you pissed at me? For freaking out last night? What the fuck is this?”

Armie crosses his arms in front of his stomach, like he’s about to be sick. “No, no, baby, I’m not mad about that. I’m not mad about anything. Just, it might be a good idea. For now. To let you heal in peace-”

Timmy steps forward and shoves Armie in the chest. “Stop this. Stop it right now. I don’t want to be alone, I want you, you fucker. Where is this coming from?”  
Armie grabs Timmy’s shoulders. “I don’t know, I was- just thinking. You’re catching a lot of heat for this, you don’t deserve that. I don’t wanna make this any harder on you.”

“God, Armie, how many fucking times do I have to say it? You don’t fucking deserve this either. What happened to being okay as long as we’re together?” Timmy spits out, his volume increasing with his anger. The shaking has started. If Armie’s hands weren’t holding his shoulders his teeth would probably clatter from the force. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” Armie whispers. He tries to encircle Timmy’s shoulders but Timmy steps out of his reach. 

“I think I should go take a shower. I feel gross. Please just sit down and we’ll, I don’t know, talk about this after that,” Timmy says wearily, rubbing his eyes with both hands. He tells himself it’s to get the sleep out. He’s not crying.

He practically runs down the hall to the bathroom, he can’t look at Armie or he’ll fucking lose it. Again. Needs to get clean, get a fresh mind, so he can figure out what the hell is going on. 

Armie watches Timmy bolt from the kitchen, like he can’t stand to be in his presence for one more second. _What the fuck, Hammer_ , Timmy had said earlier. What the fuck, indeed. He did not want to leave Timmy. The list of things he wouldn’t do to stay with Timmy forever is pretty fucking short. But Brian was right. He was a detriment to Timmy. His career, his reputation. Armie didn’t have a great track record with the court of public opinion. What else can he do but cut Timmy _precious, beloved Timmy_ loose? Let him shine on his own like he knows he can, and will. 

He can’t stay in the apartment while Timmy is showering. Figuring he needs time more than a quick wash and will be in the bathroom for awhile, Armie slips on his ancient moccasins and a cap and leaves. He needs fresh air, fortitude, to do what needs to be done. If he sits and surrounds himself with the things they’ve accumulated over the last year - Timmy’s hoodie he stole from one of Armie’s wrap parties, a selfie they took with candy pastel cars in Havana and had enlarged and framed, _fuck, Armie’s Tony_ \- he’ll never be able to leave.

He forgoes the elevator, pounds down the stairs, and exits out the service doors in the back. He’s power walking, feels ridiculous in his sweats and ratty shirt, but as soon as he reaches the park he slows down, lowers himself on to the first available bench. He puts his face in his hands and lets go. Let the mothers strollering their babies and the retirees out for their meanders stare at this pathetic man hiding from the goddamn love of his life.

Timmy steps out of the shower, dries off, and crosses the hall to their bedroom. It’s dark, the blinds pulled closed and the sheets twisted and wrinkled. He’s pathetic. Hiding from Armie, his soulmate, because he couldn’t handle the first real-life criticism thrown at him. Had to cower behind Armie like a child hiding in their mother’s skirt. Elizabeth is right, he’s just a child playing house. He whines deep in his throat, a noise of disgust aimed only at himself, and pulls on whatever he touches first in the dresser. 

He steels himself, says he’s not letting Armie go, no matter what bullshit reason he throws out. But Armie’s not in the living room. Or the kitchen. Or… no, not in the kids’ room. 

“Armie?” Timmy calls out. He hates the frantic tone of his voice. “Armie, you here?” No answer. _No no no no no. This is not happening_. He runs back to the bedroom, where his phone is buried in the mess of blankets and sheets. He ignores the - _christ, Brian_ \- four missed calls and 10 texts from his agent, calls Armie. 

“Bartier Cardi” starts blaring from the living room. “FUCK,” Timmy screams. But if Armie didn’t take his phone, maybe he means to come back. Timmy goes to look for Armie’s wallet. _If he didn’t take the wallet, he’s coming back_. He spies the slim black folio next to Armie’s phone. _Thank god_. 

He sinks onto the couch, stares at the iPhone. Just then, a new text buzzes in. He picks it up and almost drops it when he sees the sender’s name flash across the screen. _Brian Swardstrom. Why is Brian texting Armie?_ His curiosity kicks in, forces him to unlock the phone _(Really, Armie? 122795? What a tough password.)_

_Brian: How did he take it?_

What the FUCK. Timmy scrolls up, but the next most recent text is from the Tony Awards, asking if they were almost ready to go. He looks at the call log, and his mouth goes dry. _Call Received, 9:32 am, 12 min 03 sec_. Does this mean-

Timmy whips his head around at the sound of a key in the lock. Armie steps in, notices Timmy sitting at the edge of the couch, phone in hand, a look of confusion mixing with dread. 

“Why did Brian call you?” Timmy asks, his voice far calmer than he feels. 

Armie hangs up his cap on a hook, moves cautiously to the chair to the left of the couch and perches, his arms pulled down between his legs, making him look smaller and hunched. “He was looking for you. I guess you missed a meeting?”

Timmy inhales through his teeth. “Did that take 12 minutes to talk about? And what does this text mean, ‘ _how did he take it_?’ How did I take what? That’s who he’s referring to, right?”

Armie mumbles into his chest. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Timmy demands, standing and moving until he’s in front of Armie, no more than an inch between them. “Did you talk to _Brian_ about breaking up with me? Jesus, Armie, what the _fuck_?”

Armie clears his throat. “He, uh- he suggested it.”

Timmy sees red. He stumbles backwards until the backs of his knees hit the couch and he drops. “Why?” he whispers. “What did I do wrong?”

Armie’s head shoots up, tears glistening in his eyes. Timmy can tell he’s been crying already. His eyes are red and puffy. 

“Timmy, listen to me, babe. You did nothing wrong. It- it’s me. I’m the fuckup who’s holding you back. I can’t do that anymore, it’s killing me. I gotta walk away before you- before you hate me,” Armie says earnestly, his chin wobbling on his last words. 

“That is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Timmy snaps. “Who the fuck do you think you are, thinking you know what’s best for me? Brian, too. I could fire him, I swear to god, I will. He’s been looking for a way to get me to walk away for _months_ , oh, I bet he fucking creamed his pants when you got hacked. The perfect excuse to get under your skin and convince you to leave. Because I never will, Armie. I will never choose to walk away from you, do you hear me?” He’s almost yelling, too angry to care if the neighbors hear. _Let them. They’ve probably seen enough already._

Armie lets out one sob, swallows to keep it from turning into more. “You can’t fire Brian, Timmy. He- he has your best interests at heart, he just wants you to succeed-”

“I don’t want success if I can’t share it with you, Armie,” Timmy says, lower than before. “I thought that’s what you wanted, too.” 

“ _God, Timmy_ , it is what I want,” Armie cries, letting the tears fall. “But I don’t know how to fix this. I can’t. Sit here and watch you get hurt.”

Timmy squeezes his eyes shut. They’re talking in circles. 

“I don’t know how to convince you to stay, Armie. I love you. More than I’ve loved anyone else before. And I don’t think I could love anyone else like this, if you leave me.” Timmy’s crying, too, now. Fuck it. He thought he was out of tears, but the thought of not being with Armie, it’s crushing him. “And yeah, last night fucking hurt. And tomorrow will probably hurt. And it hurts right now. I feel flayed, like everyone can see every secret part of me. I can’t do this alone, Armie. I need you. Like I know you need me.”

Timmy stands, drops Armie’s phone in his lap. He hesitantly reaches out, cards his fingers through Armie’s sweat-damp hair. “Stay, Armie,” Timmy whispers. “Stay with me. Call Brian and tell him. Tell him that you’re staying. Or tell him that he wins, the world fucking wins.”

He drops a kiss onto Armie’s hair, then pulls him up to brush their lips together. “But I hope you pick me.”

He walks away, leaving Armie to his decision. He sits there, staring at their walls. Timmy’s Oscar next to his Tony. Framed drawings from Harper and Ford. A gift from JR, a collage of their faces in black and white. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, wipes his eyes, and makes the call.


	9. i'm so fuckin' grateful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interview, a little over a year later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you for reading my first fic. It's been a fucking trip, and I can't wait to get started on my next one, which hopefully I will start posting in a couple weeks. 
> 
> As always, couldn't have done it without Brooke's constant cheerleading and the rest of the gc sprinting with me. Love u all.

_“Somewhere in New York City: Fall 2021”_   
_Story by: Alexandria de Recat_   
_Photos by: Annie Leibovitz_

There’s a crispness to the air that seemingly arrived overnight. I’m standing outside of a pre-war building, trying to gather my wits while a stern-looking doorman eyes me from five feet away. I’m nervous. But no matter, I don’t want to be late, so I murmur my name to the disdainful sentinel and am allowed access to an apartment that lives in infamy, but whose location is still, somehow, kept a secret. I knock twice on the door after a smooth elevator ride to a floor near the top, where the view probably reaches Central Park, and my knocks are immediately answered by my interview subjects. Yes, readers, plural. 

Timothée Chalamet and Armie Hammer are standing in front of me, barefoot and casually dressed in joggers and a hoodie and dark-wash jeans and a tee, respectively. Mr. Chalamet is beaming at me, and clasps my hand while insisting I call him Timmy, while Mr. Hammer hangs back, letting Timmy break the ice. 

I am immediately welcomed into their living room, a bright, airy space lined with low, plush furniture and enormous windows that, like I thought, show off the magnificent reds and golds of the fall foliage in the Park. I perch on an emerald velvet armchair, and they settle into a gray sofa that is so long it was probably hand-built with Armie’s 6’5” frame in mind. I realize that my mouth is hanging open, in awe of their intimacy on display: Armie is reclined normally, but Timmy is curled into his side, his legs thrown over Armie’s. When Armie slides his arm around Timmy’s shoulders, they are sitting so close Timmy may as well be sitting on Armie’s lap. 

And this, readers, is how I found myself delving into the last 15 months of Timmy and Armie’s life, from an incident that threatened to break them up to the thunderous standing ovation they received for the much-awaited _Call Me By Your Name_ sequel at the Toronto International Film Festival in August. And I am hooked.

**Thank you, both, for inviting me into your home.**

_Timmy: No, absolutely, thank you for coming._

**Obviously, the two of you have had an eventful year. Where are you at, now?**

_T: Do you mean, like, our relationship?_ (I nod.)

_Armie: I’m happier than I’ve ever been._ (Timmy nods vigorously, smiling wide.) _We went through hell last summer, and to feel like we’ve come out the other side and still, you know, head over heels for each other, it’s such a gift._

_T: It was hard, though!_

_A: Oh, definitely. I tried to break up with him but he didn’t let me._

**What do you mean, didn’t let you?**

_T: It was so fucking stupid. Wait, can I swear?_ (I nod.) Cool. _He thought… you know, what happened… was his fault. So he thought I was better off without him. Which, just…_ (Timmy trails off, gazing into Armie’s eyes. I have to avert mine because the moment feels too personal.) 

_A: It was very fucking stupid. I haven’t tried that since!_ (They titter. Obviously I’m not in on the joke.)

**How did you heal from that privacy breach?**

_T: Ha, privacy breach. Diplomatic phrase. Well, we both deleted Instagram from our phones. And Twitter. After confirming our relationship, we just kind of… disappeared. Rented a trailer in Joshua Tree for a month before we had to start filming the sequel. Our relationship, our intimacy, had been stripped away from us, so we needed to… Oh, I don’t know, I guess heal is the right word for it. It was such a violation, we both had intensely visceral reactions when we first found out._

_A: We needed to rebuild what we had lost. That first week after the leak, we were so fucking focused on damage control that we weren’t voicing our needs to each other, we weren’t communicating with each other._

**Have you found what you had lost?**

_T: Yeah._ (They smile at each other. I wish someone smiled at me like that.) 

_A: All that and more._

**Timmy, there have been rumors that you would be seeking a new agent after the sequel was filmed, but I haven’t heard any news regarding that for awhile. Care to comment?**

_T: I’m staying at UTA. Brian [Swardstrom, Timmy’s agent since 2013] believed in me when I was a scrawny little punk with big dreams, and I believe in our partnership. We’re good._

**Forgive me for being crass, but I’ve heard from multiple sources that Brian has been dissident of your relationship.**

_T: That’s a private matter and I won’t say anything other than he’s very happy for us. Both of us._

**Fair enough. So you’ve been together for just over two years. What does that look like for two people whose work flings them in opposite locations for weeks at a time?**

_A: Ha, we have a lot of frequent flyer miles. If we’re within a six hour flight from each other, I’ll fly to him on my days off._

_T: I’m a nervous flyer._

_A: It’s enough to get to fall asleep next to each other one night a week. Other than that, we take our down time very seriously._

_T: If we don’t have the kids, it’s pretty much a constant stream of takeout and cartoons. If the kids are here, we try to do a fun activity every day, but they’re in school now, like real school, so we don’t get them as often as we’d like._

_A: We have a place in LA, we’ll go out there during the school year if we have a lot of free time. But it’s never more than a week or two at a time, which we are grateful about. Being busy, I mean._

**There was a lot of speculation that your relationship would harm your careers. But it doesn’t seem like that has been true.**

_T: Not that I’ve noticed, at least._

_A: Maybe there are producers and directors who haven’t hired us because of our orientation, but we’re working as much as we did before the leak, if not more. So it’s not a concern of mine anymore. If they don’t want us, fuck ‘em._

_T: You used to be so nervous every time I had an audition or a discussion about a project. More nervous than your own._

_A: Well. It would have killed me if you didn’t get to act._ (At this point, they are looking at each other so intently I could have left and they wouldn’t have noticed. Not that I could have left. Hot guys in love, am I right?) 

_T: I know._

**Speaking of your careers, the reception of Parallel Lives, the long-awaited and much-anticipated sequel to Call Me By Your Name, was, to put it mildly, ecstatic when it premiered at TIFF. I wasn’t there, but my friends who were told me there was a 20 minute standing ovation?**

_T: Oh my god, that was the craziest night._

_A: We were hoping it would be received well, but the response blew us all away. I think we all cried that night._

_T: Yeah I was a fucking mess during the Q and A, I’m sure you’ve seen the video._

**The one where you hid your face in Armie’s suit for a solid five minutes?**

_T: Yep, that’s the one._ (They’re both laughing, I’m laughing, we’re all best friends now.) _But seriously, it’s an honor to play Elio again. I’m forever thankful that people want to see these movies and let them just wash over them. I’ll never get tired of it._

**What was shooting Parallel Lives like? Was it difficult to fall back into being costars?**

_A: No, not at all. We were costars first, you know, so it felt natural. I had missed working with Timmy. He’s such an open book, and I trust him, so he makes me better._

_T: I feel the same. The first day, when we did the read through, was a little awkward, because we hadn’t seen so many of the cast and crew since before we got together, and a lot had happened since then! But, you know, we filmed in Boston, mostly, and Luca had rented this giant house, and the first night we were all there he made us dinner, and it felt just like Italy. Only colder._

_A: It felt surreal, for sure. And maybe there was more pressure, this time, because everyone has been begging us to make the sequel pretty much since the first one came out, so we were wary about meeting all these expectations._

**Well, I saw it at the New York Film Festival, and I think you nailed it.**

_T: Thank you, truly. We feel so lucky to have such ardent fans, and being able to give them a sequel was this massive gift._

**And you are both on the top of everyone’s early Oscars predictions list.**

_T: Well, that wasn’t the main goal of making this movie, and it’s still way too early to give credence to those predictions, but I’m just grateful that people are talking about the movie._

_A: Same._

**What is next for both of you?**

_A: We’re really focused on promoting the shit out of this movie, then I’ll be in Vancouver for a few months, shooting a Netflix series created by David Fincher._

**Ah, back with your Social Network director! What’s it about?**

_A: Yeah, I can’t say much about the plot, but I’m really excited to work with him again. It will definitely be a challenge._

**And you, Timmy?**

_T: I’m starting the Dune sequel in the spring._

**Wow, in Budapest?**

_T: Yeah. Obviously I’m thrilled to work with Denis again. But it will be hard, with Armie in Vancouver. We’ve never been separated for that long before._

_A: We will have weirdly scheduled FaceTime calls._

**Well, in a way, that mirrors Elio and Oliver’s paths in Parallel Lives. Maybe you can write each other letters like they do in the film.**

_T: That’s… that’s a great idea. God, I know it’s six months away but I already miss you._ (He’s saying this to Armie. I think I see tears in his eyes.)

_A: I know._

**Just a couple more questions. I’m doing a little bit of fanservice here, I hope you don’t mind. Marriage?** (They both laugh in that way that suggests I am missing the joke.)

_T: I don’t know, should we say anything?_

_A: Fuck it, why not? But you have to be the one to call Evelyn [Karamos, their joint publicist] later to explain our collective idiocy._

_T: We are married._

**What?!**

_T: Ha, yeah. I mean, it was completely under the radar. Just us and the courthouse and my parents as witnesses. My sister was there, too. New Year’s._

_A: It just kind of happened. On Christmas, I mentioned, jokingly, that the ring was next year’s present, and Timmy looked at me and said “why do we have to wait that long?”_

_T: Oh my god, Alexandria, are you crying?_

**I’m trying not to! I cry all the time, don’t feel special. Congratulations! I suppose the most important question is what did you wear?**

_T: Ha ha ha, of course, of course. This is gonna sound super fucking cheesy, but we wore our Oscar tuxes, from 2018._

**Oh my god, the red velvet and the white Berluti?**

_A: Yep._

_T: We had them hanging up next to each other in the closet and it just kind of happened. We sound so impulsive._

**Wow, I mean, what wonderful news. Thank you for telling me. How’s married life?**

_T: Nothing has changed, at least in a major way that would seem destabilizing or something. We feel so lucky to be husbands and best friends and costars. Feel lucky every single fucking day._

**No rings? (Armie pulls them out of his jeans pocket.)**

_A: I guess we don’t have to hide them anymore._

And that, dear readers, is the story of two men who fell in love after playing two men who fell in love. Parallel lives, indeed.


End file.
